


The Case of the Season

by robinwritesallthethings



Series: Crossovers [1]
Category: Bridgerton (TV), Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: Accidental Proposal, Anonymous Lady Authors, Arranged Marriage, Baker Street is a Disaster, Big Synonyms Because Regency People Talked Fancy, Boxing, Carriage Trip, Childbirth, Covert Dance Rescue, Crossover, Don’t Tell Sherlock He Can’t Do a Thing Because He Thinks That Makes It a Challenge, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Fake Proposal But It’s a Nice One, Family, Feeding Sherlock Cake, Floriography, Grinding, He Dreamed About Their Baby Dear Readers, Holy Crap I Finally Wrote an Actual Slow Burn, I Meant for It to Be Sexy But I Made It Kind of Sad for a Second There, I Think I Accidentally Made Sherlock Smell Like Old Spice But I’m Going With It, Imagining Sex, Loss of Virginity, Lots of Sexism Because It’s the 1800s Duh, Masturbation, Mystery, Nigel Berbrooke Will Always Be the Worst, Noble Titles Are a Pain in the Butt, Not Exactly Tragic Backstory But It’s Not Great Either, Not So Anonymous Anymore, Old Timey Feminism, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Regency Home Renovation, Regency Sex Ed, Robin Tries Being Sneaky and Kind of Fails, Robin is Terrifyingly Close to Being a Spinster, Romance, Set During the Regency So Yes I’m Transplanting Sherlock in Time Deal With It, Sex on a Fainting Couch, She Had to Faint Once, Sherlock Comes in His Pants and Enjoys It, Sherlock Gives Cute Gifts, Sherlock Has Feelings and He is Not a Fan, Sherlock Hugs, Sherlock Likes His Woman Sassy, Sherlock Might Be a Secret Dom, Sherlock Sketches, Sherlock and Simon Box, Sherlock is Horny and He’s Not Sure He’s a Fan, Sherlock’s a Big Boy If You Know What I Mean, Shirtless Sherlock Answers the Door, Shopping with Sherlock, So Many Balls But Not the Anatomical Kind, So Much Kissing Seriously Their Mouths Might Be Permanently Connected, Solving Mysteries Like a Boss, Sorry There Are a Few Mini History Lessons in This Thing, They Are Both in Serious Denial, They Didn’t Catch Lady Whistledown Because I Have to Leave Something for the Sequel, They Keep Staring at Each Other’s Naughty Bits in Secret, They’re Solving a Mystery Together and It’s Honestly Adorable, Unexpectedly Sexy Touching, Unrequited Love Except It’s Not They’re Just Dumb, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Very Serious Conversations, Virgin Sherlock, With Apologies to Sam Claflin, Writing Talk, Yup Enola Showed Up Her Brother Again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 59,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinwritesallthethings/pseuds/robinwritesallthethings
Summary: In this mash-up ofBridgertonandEnola Holmesset during the Regency, Robin Ballard is sent to London to spend the season with her cousins, the Bridgertons, in the hopes that she will finally find a husband before it is too late, though she doesn’t much care for the idea of matrimony. The famous and very eligible detective Sherlock Holmes isn’t interested in finding a wife, but has been hired to locate a missing heir who should have been the catch of the season, and he’s having trouble with the ton because he lacks social graces. He and Robin cross paths at a ball and come to an arrangement that greatly benefits both of them. She’ll help him with the ton, and he’ll marry her, after which they can comfortably live their lives apart. But as they spend more time together, they find that close proximity has turned their ruse into reality.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/Robin Ballard (robinwritesallthethings)
Series: Crossovers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100003
Comments: 204
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin is presented to Queen Charlotte beside her cousin, Daphne Bridgerton.

**London, 1813**

Robin Ballard took a deep breath and steadied herself. She had never expected to be in London for the season, much less presenting herself before the queen, but now she was standing behind Daphne Bridgerton and preparing to follow her into the throne room.

Daphne was also nervous, but only about making the best impression possible. She possessed beauty and grace beyond measure, and Robin knew she could not hope to eclipse, or even equal, it. Daphne also possessed an actual excitement for marriage that Robin simply couldn’t muster. Of course, her prospects weren’t nearly as good as Daphne’s. Not that that would have changed her opinion, but it would have been a factor for most women.

It was still precisely why she was here. Her father hoped that by spending the season in the city, she would be able to secure a proposal from an appropriate man of her station. Though several men had asked her father for her hand, none of them had been of a suitable rank, so he’d turned them all down, perhaps not considering that the abject disrepair of their once grand family estate and her complete lack of a dowry made her not particularly desirable.

Combined with the fact that she was 25 and therefore terrifyingly close to being a spinster, a match didn’t seem likely at all. But she had promised to try for her father’s sake, and she kept her promises. No matter what, she had reasoned, she’d get to experience a London season, which would be good research for her career.

From what she had read, there wasn’t anything quite like watching eligible young ladies and their conniving mamas do whatever it took to make a husband out of the most dashing gentlemen, all of whom would simultaneously be doing their best to identify the brightest jewel among the aforementioned ladies and win her hand, thereby making every other member of the ton jealous.

It was Daphne’s first season, and her mother had been fussing with her grand silk dress, especially the train, ever since they’d arrived. All of the women being presented were required to wear white and gold, and Daphne was positively sparkling. Robin’s gown was much simpler, muslin accented with lace and satin, but it was perfectly serviceable. She’d made it herself, just like all of her other gowns, and tied back her hair with bright gold ribbons to make up for the minimal gold accents she’d been able to add to the dress.

Now Violet Bridgerton, who Robin called her aunt for sake of ease, though the family relationship was actually more complicated than that, came to stand next to her and fuss with those bright gold ribbons. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” she apologized. “I’ve barely been paying attention to you at all. I’m being horribly negligent.”

Robin laughed and gave her aunt a brief hug before the woman started to fuss over her again. “Aunt Violet, please. Of course you should be paying more attention to your own daughter. It’s her first season, and I know how much this will set the stage for your family’s future matches. You’ve done more than enough just allowing me to stay with you. You’re being entirely too generous.”

“There’s no such thing when it comes to family, my dear,” Violet replied seriously.

“I am barely family,” Robin protested as Violet smoothed her skirt, the shimmering golden thread Robin had used to stitch her dress glowing dimly in the light.

“Nonsense, my dear,” Violet corrected her. “It doesn’t matter how distantly related we are. As far as I am concerned, you are my niece, and I am going to do my best to find you a match, just as I promised your father I would.”

Robin smiled as Violet kissed her cheek. “Well, I will make it as easy for you as possible, Aunt Violet. I promise not to faint like one of the Featherington girls did.”

“Then you will be remarkably ahead of not only her, but the majority of the ton, because you are also well-mannered and beautiful, my dear,” Violet assured her.

Robin flushed as the doors opened, pleased with the compliment, and also glad that it provided some color for her cheeks in this fraught moment.

Earning the queen’s favor today, or not earning her disapproval, at the very least, was critical to a woman’s season. It was rather unfair that so much hung on one moment, but that was the way things were. And Robin had learned that although many rules could in fact be broken without repercussion, which ones had to be selected carefully, and all others must be followed precisely to yield the desired results.

“Miss Daphne Bridgerton,” the man announced, “and Countess Robin Ballard, presented by the Right Honorable, the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.”

Robin barely kept the grimace off her face at her title. It was a meaningless thing, really, since there was no money to back it up, and she rather despised the presumptuous elevation of its use. But it was correct, and necessary, since a man with money might be persuaded to marry her for the land and title alone, and her aunt knew that very well.

Daphne stepped forward proudly, beaming the whole way. Robin swallowed nervously, then followed, making sure to stay slightly behind Daphne and well to the side of her train.

Though the room was not that long, the walk across the smooth, light wooden boards felt like it took ages. The sense that one was being watched by everyone in attendance was enhanced by the fact that the room was lined from floor to ceiling and wall to wall with portraits.

The queen herself was an imposing figure. Seated on her throne upon the dais and dressed in the French fashion more popular decades ago than the present, she affected an air of disregard that Robin knew was false, but nevertheless remained intimidating.

Robin curtseyed deeply along with Daphne, keeping her head bowed as the queen approached, even though her breath was stuck in her throat. The queen bypassed her entirely, of course, as she declared Daphne flawless, but Robin was more than content to remain unnoticed and firmly in the middle of a vast field of eligible ladies.

When the queen returned to her seat and the audience finished cooing over Daphne, they were allowed to exit the hall. Daphne and her mother squealed excitedly, and Robin returned her cousin’s hug enthusiastically.

“Can you even believe it?” Daphne whispered excitedly. “She said I was flawless. Flawless!”

“That’s because you were,” Robin reminded her matter-of-factly. “There’s no point in denying the truth.”

“You were very wonderful too, cousin,” Daphne said diplomatically.

“I was quite tolerable,” Robin decided, “and am therefore satisfied.”

“You were far more than tolerable,” Violet disagreed. “You both did very well, and I am proud of you. Now, come. Let us go home, have a pleasant meal, and make our preparations for the season’s first ball.”

Robin nodded and followed her aunt and cousin out of the palace. There were to be many balls in her future, and she could only hope that, whatever the season had in store for her, every event would at least be interesting.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin learns that the famous detective Sherlock Holmes will be in London for the season investigating the case of a missing heiress.

Robin sat in an armchair in the very large, very comfortable room where the Bridgertons usually took their tea. She was not used to there being no household work to tend to, and even less used to the luxurious amount and variety of foods available, so she was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.

She sipped the licorice tea she’d become rather fond of since arriving in London and smiled as she watched the large family fall into what she’d quickly realized were their usual spots around her. There were eight Bridgerton children in total, so even when everyone was quiet, their home felt full and busy.

Robin liked it. Normally, it was just her, her father, and their two servants in Norland Park, a house much vaster than this. So often, it felt empty and cold. Granted, the cold was partially because of the drafts due to the house’s condition, but all of the people here just made it so much warmer.

Robin smiled as Eloise, who would be searching for her own husband next season, came to join her, sitting in the chair across from her. Eloise let out a heavy sigh and Robin raised her eyebrow, then selected a cucumber sandwich and some cold chicken and ham from the tray in front of her, beginning to snack as she waited for Eloise to say what was on her mind.

“Why is it so expected that women should marry?” she finally grumbled, grabbing her own sandwich and slumping in her seat. “Anthony and Benedict are both older than you and Daphne and neither of them are married, but no one seems to care.”

“Your mother cares,” Robin immediately disagreed. “Anthony in particular should be married by now, especially since he’s been the head of your family since your father died. It’s his obligation to produce an heir, and if he’s really not going to, then it’s Benedict’s, and he’s not fulfilling that obligation either.”

“Fine, but my point is that no one’s taking him in front of the queen and trying to pawn him off to the highest bidder,” Eloise retorted.

“True,” Robin acknowledged. “But just wait until the first ball. I know Anthony is only going to escort Daphne and I, but from what I’ve heard, the eligible ladies will be all over him as soon as he arrives.”

“I suppose we’ll find out. I can’t believe your father convinced you to do this. I would have stayed in the country if I were you,” Eloise huffed, stuffing another sandwich into her mouth.

Robin shrugged. “I have my own family obligations, Eloise. And I must be thankful that your mother is kind enough to take me in, see potential suitors on my behalf, and pay my dowry. My father would never be able to handle any of that. And your mother keeps trying to get me to accept even more charity, but I’m trying to take as little as possible, considering how likely it is that I will ever be able to pay her back.”

Eloise sat up and eyed Robin curiously, grabbing another sandwich and pointing it at her accusingly. “I thought you didn’t want to get married,” she argued.

“I don’t, particularly,” Robin admitted. “If I don’t wed, it is highly likely that I will be able to continue living with family, or even on my own, if someone is kind enough to settle some money on me. Someone else would inherit Norland, perhaps even one of your brothers, and they would return it to its former glory, which would be lovely to see.”

“But?” Eloise wondered. “Obviously there’s a but.”

“But those are all risky gambles to take, Eloise. What if there comes a time when I have no family to take me in? Or the family I do have left isn’t able to, or just plain doesn’t want to? I’d be left destitute. And I’d hate to see Norland potentially go to someone who would not care for it properly, or sell it. Just because I haven’t been able to restore it doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

“Why don’t you just marry Anthony or Benedict?” Eloise suggested. “They’d take care of the estate, and they’d probably leave you alone to do whatever you liked.”

Robin wrinkled her nose. “First of all, I don’t think either of your brothers want to marry me. They could do far better,” Robin explained. “Second of all, while I know there’s supposedly nothing wrong with marrying your cousins according to the ton, I would much rather not. I consider all of you family. It would just be strange.”

“Are you expecting many proposals?” Eloise asked, reclining dramatically.

Robin rolled her eyes. “Hardly. I’m only distantly related to your family, my title comes with a ramshackle estate that will cost thousands of pounds to repair, and my dowry isn’t going to be decided until I have a suitor. That’s better than nothing, surely, but when you consider my age, the fact that I’m quite plain, and my challenging personality, well… I’d say a bevy of proposals is unlikely.”

“You’re not plain.” Anthony sprawled out on the nearby sofa and looked her up and down as he joined their conversation. “You’re not wispy and willowy like Daphne, which seems to be the fashion lately, but some men prefer more… substantial assets.”

He gestured at Robin’s ample bosom and smirked, winking to make sure she knew he was joking. The wink was unnecessary. Even though she hadn’t been with her cousins long, she already knew that Anthony’s favorite pastime was making fun of anyone and everyone he could.

Eloise threw a sandwich at her brother and it landed on his shirt. He winked at her as he plucked it off and ate it. Robin shook her head and raised an eyebrow at him. “I dare you to say that again when your mother is in the room,” she challenged.

Violet scowled every time that Anthony was uncouth, and that comment would have earned him an exceptionally foul look, not to mention a possible smack to the back of the head.

“I am perfectly satisfied with the way I look,” Robin assured Anthony. “I just meant that I am not a particularly great beauty. Most women aren’t, quite frankly. But the great beauties seem to entice men the most.”

“It’s all completely ridiculous,” Eloise announced. “What’s the point of having a beautiful wife if she’s too daft to talk to?”

“Not all beautiful women are daft, Eloise,” Robin pointed out. “Your own sister is very intelligent.”

“She’s an exception to the rule,” Eloise insisted. “So you’re actually going through with this? You’re going to parade yourself around like a trussed chicken and try to catch a man?”

Robin chuckled. “I’m not going to parade, and certainly not like a trussed chicken, but I am going to keep an open mind, for the sake of my father and your mother. Besides, it will be fun, in a way. It’s something I’ll never get to experience again, most likely.”

And she would put the knowledge to good use, just like she’d thought earlier when being presented before the queen. But that was a secret she had to keep even from her cousins, so she didn’t mention it.

“I can’t believe Francesca is going to miss all of this,” Eloise observed, glancing around.

Francesca, another of the Bridgerton sisters, was spending some time in Bath, which Robin was sure was going to be an adventure in itself. “Francesca’s absence simply means that you’ll get all the fun of telling her what happened while she was away when she gets back,” she tried to soothe Eloise.

“I suppose.” Eloise straightened and brightened as she pulled a folded sheet of paper from the spot between her dress and the chair cushion. “Let’s talk about something more fun now. Have you read the latest gossip from Lady Whistledown?”

“Who is Lady Whistledown?” Robin inquired.

She didn’t care much for gossip, but Eloise did, and she was willing to indulge her cousin. She knew this season was going to be a hard time for Eloise for many reasons, and she deserved some relief along the way.

“No one knows,” Eloise revealed excitedly. “She’s anonymous, and she intends to report on the happenings of the season without obscuring any names of those involved. It’s all very scandalous. There’s not much yet, of course. She talks about Daphne being the catch of the season, which we all knew was going to be the case anyway. Here. Take a look.”

Robin took the paper Eloise handed her as she turned to talk to her brother. She was intrigued by the idea of an anonymous woman outing the many sins of the ton, though she wasn’t concerned herself. She was likely not even interesting enough to warrant a mention.

She browsed the columns, finding the section Eloise had mentioned about Daphne. She was almost to the end of the first page when she saw something that really caught her attention.

She blinked rapidly as she read every word carefully. “Sherlock Holmes is in London for the season and will be attending ton events?”

Eloise’s head swiveled so she could face Robin again. “Oh, yes, I saw that. I don’t know much about him. I rarely pay attention to the exploits of men.”

Robin rolled her eyes affectionately at Eloise’s declaration. She understood it, but Sherlock Holmes was a special case, as far as she was concerned.

“He’s only the most famous detective in England, Eloise,” Anthony chided her. “Though he’s apparently quite a taciturn fellow. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Didn’t Lady Whistledown say he’s an eligible bachelor?” Eloise remembered. “I might have fallen asleep reading that part.”

Robin shook her head. “Very technically, he is, but I’ve heard he has no intention of ever getting married. She says that he’s here to find a missing heiress who disappeared under mysterious circumstances.”

“You seem to know a lot about him,” Eloise teased. “Is he landed? Does he have a title?”

“No,” Robin answered immediately, her cheeks flushing slightly. “He has an older brother, Mycroft, who works for the government. He was made a baronet for his service, and he’s apparently quite wealthy. His family already owned an estate, Ferndell Hall, though it’s been vacated recently. His mother and younger sister used to live there.”

“Surely his brother is circulating among the ton, then?” Eloise mused, taking the sheet back so she could peruse the details.

“Apparently not,” Anthony broke in yet again. “All he does is work and frequent the Diogenes Club. His personality is reportedly even worse than Sherlock’s. And he’s apparently not much to look at. Always sneering. Everything I’ve heard indicates that Sherlock is at least handsome.”

“I imagine it’s more his fame that’s the draw,” Robin proposed. “And the fact that if his brother doesn’t marry, he’ll inherit his title and the family estate.”

“Well, perhaps you can marry him,” Eloise suggested seriously. “You already seem to favor him.”

Robin snorted. It was a very unladylike noise, but she didn’t care. “Hardly. I would merely like to meet him. I’ve read everything about him. His cases are very interesting. We don’t get much news like that in the country, you know.”

The tales of Sherlock’s detective work had also inspired and fueled her own career, but once again, she couldn’t tell them that.

“Well, I hope your paths will cross,” Eloise wished her well.

“I hope so too,” Robin murmured thoughtfully.

She had no illusions that a man as accomplished as Sherlock Holmes would ever be interested in her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t meet him and speak to him once.

At the very least, it felt good to have something to look forward to at a ball beyond finding a man to marry.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Sherlock Holmes meet at Lady Danbury’s ball.

Robin would have been lying if she had said her stomach didn’t flutter slightly when she picked up her dance card from the table at Lady Danbury’s ball. Regardless of her marriage ambitions, this was a momentous event for any woman.

She was also hoping to meet Sherlock Holmes this evening, and that made her more than a little nervous. She had no idea how he’d react to her, and she hoped it would be favorable so she’d have at least one pleasant memory of the season.

She’d worn her best dress for the evening, since Lady Danbury’s ball was such a splendid affair. It was white muslin, which was quite typical, but she’d spent hours embroidering intricate lavender flowers on the skirt, bodice, and sleeves. It hugged her larger shape quite attractively, she thought, and definitely showed off her cleavage to maximum effect.

Though she didn’t expect her dance card to fill or any men to pay her particular attention, she wanted to make a good impression, if only for her Aunt Violet. She was doing so much for her, and that needed to be acknowledged.

She was rather thankful that, for the moment, at least, her aunt and cousin Anthony were preoccupied with Daphne. He was watching every man who approached her like a hawk, and Robin preferred the freedom to circulate on her own.

She made her rounds through the party, watching the dancers in the center of the floor and sampling the food. Most of the women she passed were flirting very ostentatiously, hoping to attract interest from a man early, since it would only get more difficult throughout the season. She wasn’t going to participate in that kind of behavior, though, especially when she didn’t even know whether she liked any of these men yet.

Several dances had passed when two new arrivals caused a stir. The Duke of Hastings was a relation of Lady Danbury’s, and no one had expected him in town for the season. He was very handsome and very eligible, having recently been elevated by his father’s death, and was instantly surrounded by ladies. He looked profoundly uncomfortable, and Robin hoped that he would soon be relieved.

The other man drew most of her attention, though. As Lady Whistledown had postulated, Sherlock Holmes was in attendance. Though she’d never seen him in person, of course, Robin recognized him from the drawings she’d seen in the newspapers.

He was very tall and well-built, with broad shoulders, a thick chest, and powerful thighs. Though he was unusually clad almost entirely in tones of brown, it did draw attention to his dark hair, which fell slightly over his forehead in short curls.

She hadn’t thought it possible, but he looked even more uncomfortable than the Duke of Hastings, though the group of women that surrounded him was smaller.

As Robin thought of a way to introduce herself, she was hit by a sudden bolt of inspiration. She instantly pressed forward, easily parting the crowd until she was standing before him and staring up into his brilliant blue eyes.

Up close, she could also see the very fetching cleft in his chin. His drawings did not do him justice at all. He was an exceedingly handsome man.

He tilted his head and looked at her curiously. Before he could speak, she announced, “Mr. Holmes, I’m glad I found you again. You will be late for our dance if you do not accompany me presently.”

He stayed where he was, clearly confused. She raised an eyebrow at him and expectantly held out her hand. Surely a man known as the world’s greatest detective would get the hint.

After another moment, he did. “My apologies,” he said smoothly, taking her hand. “Shall we?”

She flushed as he escorted her to the dance floor. They took their places and the dance began. He seemed perturbed, and she tried to soothe him with a joke.

“You can dance, can’t you, Mr. Holmes?”

He huffed. “Of course I can dance. I was raised properly. Which is more than I can say for you, Miss…”

“Robin Ballard,” she introduced herself as he turned over the very empty dance card hanging from her wrist.

“As I’m sure you know, I have not signed your dance card, Miss Ballard. And the reason is primarily that I do not enjoy dancing.”

“I am aware that you didn’t sign my dance card, Mr. Holmes, but I thought it looked like you needed a swift intervention before you were overwhelmed by the young ladies and their conniving mamas.”

“The attention of one predatory woman is preferable to the attention of many in number only,” he observed disapprovingly.

Robin laughed, a loud, pealing sound that bounced through the room, startling more than several people. Sherlock was momentarily stunned by its pleasing quality, but quickly regained his composure.

“I’m hardly predatory, Mr. Holmes,” she continued. “But I have read everything about your cases, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet you. May I ask how your current case is proceeding?”

“You may not, Miss Ballard, as it’s hardly your business, unless you have pertinent information to give me.”

“Well, if I knew who you were investigating, I might,” she replied coyly, glancing up at him.

His brow furrowed, but he relented and answered her. “I have been hired to ascertain the whereabouts of one Baroness Cecilia Beverley,” he confessed shortly, providing her with no other details.

“I’m afraid I know nothing of her, Mr. Holmes.”

“Then you are hardly of any use to me, Miss Ballard.”

To his surprise, she wasn’t offended by the statement. She simply smiled and laughed again, and he was once more stunned by the sound and its effect on him.

As their dance came to an end, he barely bowed to her before beginning to move away. When she followed him, he stopped and turned to her in exasperation.

“Miss Ballard, I really must go,” he insisted.

“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” she responded easily. “You should sign my dance card first, though, to complete my unsuccessful deception, since you were not at all pleased with your rescue.”

He pressed his lips together in a thin line and relented, gently cupping her wrist in the palm of his hand and turning her dance card over so he could sign it.

Her breath caught in her throat slightly as he touched her. It felt much more intimate than the dance they had just shared.

But she didn’t betray what she was feeling. Instead, she looked up at him and brazenly declared, “I wish you luck in your investigative endeavors, Mr. Holmes, though I quite imagine your regular techniques are going to fail among the ton.”

He raised an eyebrow and found that he couldn’t help engaging with her assumption. “And what makes you say that, Miss Ballard?”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, you rely on observation of behavior to make your deductions. That won’t work with the ton, because everyone has the same goals. Therefore, they all act the same by design. And even though it’s widely known, they all go to great lengths to keep up the facade. It takes finesse to get to the secrets underneath. Charm, Mr. Holmes. Of which you possess none.”

He blinked rapidly, not even realizing that he hadn’t yet let go of her hand. He was used to being blunt with people, but not so used to them being blunt with him.

Before he could reply, she was bidding him farewell and removing her hand from his. “Regardless, Mr. Holmes, it was a pleasure to meet you. You exactly met my expectations. I imagine I will see you again, but I will defer to your wishes and make sure that it is only from afar.”

She turned and left his presence, leaving him standing alone in view of the dance floor. He found himself waiting to see if she would dance with anyone else, but she didn’t stop, heading instead for the refreshments table.

He stared after her for another moment. She was certainly more beautiful than any other woman in the room, at least to him. But he wasn’t here to find a wife, and certainly not one with manners as impertinent as hers.

He shook his head and straightened his jacket and cravat, grimacing as another gaggle of ladies approached him. As hard as it might be for him to navigate the world of the ton, he was going to persevere, despite what Miss Ballard said.

He was the world’s greatest detective, after all.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin receives an unexpected visitor.

The next day, Robin joined Daphne to wait for suitors. She didn’t expect anyone for herself, of course, since she had danced with no besides Sherlock Holmes, and he most certainly wasn’t going to court her. Daphne, however, should have had men lining up down the street.

Sadly for her, though, no one materialized when it was finally a proper time to begin calling. Daphne sighed and flopped down on one of the sofas, glancing at her mother.

“Anthony’s absolutely ruined my chances,” she declared. “No eligible man could get close enough for me to speak to them and decide if I even wanted to marry them. He had a reason to be against every single one.”

“I’ll talk to him, dear,” Violet soothed her, sitting down beside her and hugging her gently.

“Oh, but I’m being horribly rude,” Daphne moaned, glancing at Robin now. “Robin, did you meet anyone you liked? Anyone who might call?”

“Hardly,” Robin replied. “Though now that I’ve made a public appearance and the rumor is circulating that I’m connected to your family, that might change. Don’t worry about me, Daphne. I’m quite sore with Anthony for being so strict with you. You should have all of the say in who you marry, quite frankly. It’s your life, not his.”

“Try telling him that,” Daphne muttered as her brother strode into the room with his characteristic arrogant swagger.

Anthony grabbed several biscuits and turned to the women. “I didn’t expect Robin to get the first caller of the season. Congratulations, cousin.”

Robin blinked in surprise. “Pardon?” she asked, entirely confused.

“There’s a man here for you. I told the servants that I would tell you. It’s that fellow you danced with last night. The detective. Sherlock Holmes.”

Robin stood up quickly, her eyes moving to the door as she waited for him to enter. “Sherlock Holmes is here to see me?” she wondered incredulously.

“Is there something objectionable about him?” Anthony questioned her. “As far as I know, he’s from a good family, he’s rather wealthy, and he doesn’t have any of the usual bad habits. Gambling, women. He’s slightly eccentric, of course, considering his odd profession for a gentleman, but that hardly makes him unsuitable. I can tell him to leave if you like, though.”

“No, no,” Robin quickly corrected him. “I was just under the impression from our conversation last night that he wasn’t particularly interested.”

Anthony shrugged. “Well, as I said, he’s eccentric. Perhaps you misread him.”

At that moment, Sherlock Holmes appeared in the doorway. He bowed rather stiffly and announced, “I am here to call on Miss Ballard, if she will permit me.”

Robin nodded and felt herself flush. “Of course, Mr. Holmes.”

She was sure he had some other purpose for being here. There was no possible way he was calling on her as a suitor.

“Let’s adjourn to the study, Anthony,” Violet suggested. “I have some things to discuss with you. That’s where I will be if you need me, Robin.”

She knew what Violet meant. She thought that Sherlock might make an offer of marriage that she would need to negotiate. Robin simply nodded, not wanting to dash her hopes just yet.

“I’ll be in my room if anyone calls for me,” Daphne decided demurely.

Robin smiled to herself. They were all very graciously leaving them alone to talk. Which was probably good, considering that she had no idea what Sherlock was going to say.

She would marry him if he asked. She wouldn’t be able to resist. But she was being very careful about actually wishing for that. As far as anyone knew, Sherlock Holmes was not looking for a wife.

And even if he was, it was unlikely that he was going to choose her. He could choose anyone.

As soon as everyone else had left the room, Robin gestured to the sofa. “Please have a seat, Mr. Holmes. May I get you some tea?”

“Please.”

“Help yourself to biscuits,” she told him, “unless you prefer me to serve you.”

He chuckled softly. “I am perfectly capable of selecting my own biscuits, thank you.”

He seemed to find something about her offer vaguely ridiculous. She didn’t know what, precisely, but it was an interesting reaction, nevertheless.

He sat and she poured two cups of the licorice tea she preferred. “Might I suggest an orange slice instead of a lemon slice, Mr. Holmes? It complements the flavor well.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to me to be adventurous,” he admitted.

She dropped in the orange slice and handed him his cup, biting her lip slightly as their fingers touched. She sat down across from him, smoothing her dress under her first.

“I am not foolish enough to think you are here to court me, Mr. Holmes,” she began, getting the thought out in the open immediately. “What can I do for you?”

He finished his sip of tea and nodded. “You are correct, Miss Ballard. I am not here to court, as I never intend to marry anyone.” He licked his lips and swallowed. “I am here to talk about what we discussed last night.”

Robin smiled. “To be honest, Mr. Holmes, I’m shocked that you even remember my name. I was made to understand that you don’t recall anything unworthy of your notice.”

He smirked slightly. She tilted her head as she noticed a spot of brown in one of his strikingly blue eyes.

“I often remember even the most insignificant details, Miss Ballard. But you are incorrect if you think that you are unworthy of my notice. You’re quite intriguing. I’ve not met many ladies as bold as you.”

She narrowed her eyes, once again not sure if he meant his comment in a good or bad way. But she didn’t ask for clarification, instead waiting for him to speak more.

But he didn’t. Instead, his cheeks pinked slightly and he seemed embarrassed.

Suddenly, she laughed. He started slightly, almost spilling his tea, the pink in his cheeks turning to red as he remembered how that sound had echoed in his dreams the night before.

She ignored his being startled and moved on. “I was correct, wasn’t I?” she guessed. “You got nowhere with the ton.”

“I did not,” he confessed softly, clearly perturbed.

Before she could think of anything to say, Violet returned to the room. “Mr. Holmes, please forgive my neglecting you,” she apologized. “I had other family business to attend to.”

Robin assumed that Anthony had been thoroughly taken to task for his poor behavior.

“No forgiveness is necessary, Lady Bridgerton,” he assured her. “Miss Ballard has taken very good care of me.”

“I’m sure she has,” Violet agreed. “She’s an amiable hostess, Mr. Holmes, and would make an excellent match.”

Robin kept her mouth shut. She couldn’t bring herself to disappoint her aunt and reveal that Sherlock Holmes was not here to court her. He was the one who had paid the visit. He could tell her himself.

But, oddly enough, he didn’t. He merely listened politely. Robin’s brow furrowed curiously. She had no idea why he wasn’t correcting her.

“As you can see, Mr. Holmes, Robin is quite beautiful. She is also a very accomplished woman. She makes all of her own clothes, and they are impeccable. And she is proficient on the pianoforte.”

Robin grimaced slightly. She was barely proficient on the pianoforte. She didn’t have one at Norland, and even if she had, she would barely have had time to play it.

“She is very skilled at the running of a large estate as well. She is her father’s sole heir, and their home, Norland Park, will go to her upon his death. I will be negotiating her dowry when an offer of marriage is made, and it will be considerable. And I can tell you from seeing her with my own younger children that she will make a wonderful mother, sir.”

Robin drank her tea to hide her discomfort at having her praises sung, especially in front of a man who had no intention of marrying her.

Sherlock watched her from the corner of his eye. So far, none of the ladies he’d encountered in the ton had been averse to having their virtues extolled. He didn’t know if she didn’t like it simply because he’d made clear his intent to never marry, or if she didn’t like it in general.

“I do believe all of those things are true, Lady Bridgerton,” Sherlock responded graciously.

“Will you join us for luncheon, Mr. Holmes?” Violet offered, obviously hoping to extend Robin’s time with him. “We would love to have you.”

“That is very kind, but I am afraid I have an appointment to keep. I must leave shortly.”

“Well, you must join us at another time. I insist upon it.”

His eyes flicked to Robin. “I am happy to accept your invitation, Lady Bridgerton.”

Robin blinked rapidly, not at all sure what he was up to. He smiled, glad to be keeping her on her toes, since she seemed to think she understood his situation so well.

“Wonderful, Mr. Holmes. I will allow you two to say your goodbyes.”

She stood and exited the room, leaving them alone once more.

“What are you up to, Mr. Holmes?” Robin inquired suspiciously.

He grinned and winked at her. “I do believe that shall remain a mystery to you for now, Miss Ballard.”

She snorted and grinned right back. “You have more manners and more humor than I expected, sir.”

“I’m always happy to surprise,” he revealed, standing. “I shall see you again when I can, Miss Ballard.”

She nodded and stood with him. “If you are having trouble with the ton, Mr. Holmes, you might want to start here.”

She handed him one of their many copies of Lady Whistledown’s gossip sheet. He rolled his eyes at her, but took it and tucked it into the inside of his jacket.

“Farewell, Miss Ballard.”

“Farewell, Mr. Holmes.”

She found herself standing alone a moment later, wondering exactly what had just happened.

She supposed she would find out later, but if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t particularly fond of waiting.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin agrees to help Sherlock with his case, but she has terms.

Later turned out to be that afternoon, when Daphne invited Robin to the green. She was going to ride with Anthony and talk to him about her predicament herself. Since everyone now seemed to be under the impression that Robin had a marriage prospect, the assumption was made that she’d want to promenade to see him.

She did want to see him again. They weren’t wrong about that.

She was walking in a slow circle around the green when the world’s greatest detective fell into step beside her. “Is this really how you like to spend your time?” he began.

“No,” she replied archly. “Walking in a circle attempting to lure men with my exquisite form isn’t exactly my idea of a worthwhile pursuit. I would prefer to read or write, but I don’t want to upset my aunt, and every experience is useful when one has a creative mind.”

She stopped talking, wondering if she had perhaps said too much, especially in the presence of someone who was a detective.

“More and more intriguing,” he murmured, glancing sideways at her and studying her profile.

She was even more beautiful in the light. She was almost a foot shorter than him, and her body was pleasantly curvy, especially her rear and bosom, though that was hardly an appropriate thought.

It was also one that wouldn’t generally occur to him. The comforts of women were not something he had ever craved. He didn’t understand why he was suddenly more attuned to them since Miss Ballard’s timely intervention at Lady Danbury’s ball, or why it was only her in particular that he was noticing. But he couldn’t help himself.

Her brown hair was naturally wavy and simply pinned back, and she wasn’t wearing an abundance of rouge. The color in her cheeks was real, which he appreciated. She had full pink lips, and there was a rather fetching swoop at the end of her nose.

She turned her head to him fully and she caught him staring. She had big hazel eyes that were undoubtedly curious, and he decided to end her confusion.

“You were right, Miss Ballard. I am getting nowhere with the ton. They know I’m not here to court and they do not wish to tell me anything.”

“Are you requesting my help, Mr. Holmes?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“If I did, would you give it?” he wondered.

“Not freely,” she answered immediately.

He stopped walking and she paused along with him. “What is your price, Miss Ballard?”

She considered briefly, then stood up a little straighter and looked directly into his eyes. “I want to work your case with you.”

It was his turn to laugh out loud. “You can’t possibly be serious, Miss Ballard. That would be far more work than is worth your assistance.”

“Do you have women lining up to be your assistant, then?” she challenged him.

“I could ask any lady to help me, and most would do so without your ridiculous terms and conditions.”

“Fine,” she retorted. “Ask them. But none will be as savvy as me, and they will all assume your attention means something much more. I am under no such impression, especially after your announcement this morning.”

“No,” he snapped automatically, without having another particular reason as to why.

“And how exactly am I supposed to help you, then? If you’re hoping I can simply teach you to be charming, you’re wrong. It would take the entire season to do that, if not longer.”

He bit his lip and made a face at her that was somewhere between a sneer and a smile. “Do you know that you are an extremely vexing woman, Miss Ballard?”

“I’m doing my best, Mr. Holmes.”

He laughed again, then gestured for her to continue walking. She obeyed.

“Very well,” he agreed heavily. “We should find a time when I can go over the case with you, ideally without being interrupted.”

“Are you attending the upcoming opera?”

“Yes. I have a box.”

“I’ll be on the floor.”

“Join me in my box instead, Miss Ballard. We’ll finally have a chance to talk.”

“Very well, Mr. Holmes. I look forward to it.”

“I can’t entirely say that I am,” he muttered.

“If Lady Whistledown knew how rude you were, she wouldn’t recommend you as such an eligible match,” she observed.

“As if it matters to me what Lady Whistledown thinks,” he huffed.

“It should. She’s very quickly becoming the harbinger of the season. If she thinks it, it matters. Just because you don’t like society doesn’t mean nobody else does.”

She was savvy. She wasn’t wrong about that.

“Very well, Miss Ballard,” he sighed. “I will keep it in mind.”

They stopped at the end of the green and Robin smiled at Daphne, who was clearly ready to go.

“One more thing before I leave, Mr. Holmes.”

“Yes, Miss Ballard?”

“If you’re not careful, my aunt is going to think there is some validity to the idea that you want to marry me. Please consider that in the future. I am disappointing enough already.”

She went to join Daphne before he could respond, and he stared after her curiously.

She was challenging and willful and sharp-witted, to be sure, but that hardly made her disappointing in his eyes.

However, he knew she was right. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to assume they might be wed.

He turned and left, promising himself he would be more mindful of his behavior in the future.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock seeks Robin’s advice about his case, and she reveals an astonishing secret.

Robin wore dark green velvet to the opera. It wasn’t a particularly popular color this season, so the fabric had been cheaper. Besides, she thought she looked quite good in dark green.

Sherlock Holmes found her before she could find him. He grasped her elbow gently so he wouldn’t lose her in the crowd and leaned down to speak in her ear.

“Good evening, Miss Ballard.”

She turned her head and her nose slightly brushed his cheek. He pulled back, steadfastly ignoring the tingle that worked through his skin at the touch.

“Good evening, Mr. Holmes.”

“Shall we go to my box?” he offered.

“Yes, please.”

He led her in that direction, opening the curtain for her, letting it fall shut behind them once she was inside. They took their seats and she glanced at the stage.

“Do you enjoy the opera, Mr. Holmes?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She nodded. “You prefer Paganini, if I recall correctly.”

“You do, Miss Ballard.”

He knew that information about him was widely available, but for some reason, her knowing so much about him made him quite uncomfortable.

What made him even more uncomfortable was that she seemed to sense that. “Shall we discuss the case, Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes, we shall, Miss Ballard,” he agreed hurriedly, pausing and resting his hands on his thighs before he began. “I have been hired to find the missing Baroness Cecilia Beverley. She has vanished under mysterious circumstances quite recently. A good portion of her family’s money and jewels are missing, and there appear to be signs of potential foul play.”

“Such as?” Robin inquired.

“A broken window. A ripped dress. Her room was ransacked. However, all of these signs don’t seem to add up to a reasonable conclusion. Of course, the family wishes for the recovery of the money and jewels, but they are far more concerned about her. She has a sister, but she is only three and therefore won’t be eligible for marriage for some time, and this would have been Lady Beverley’s first season. I believe they were hoping to increase their family fortune through a great match.”

When he looked at her, her brow was furrowed in thought. Curious, he waited.

“Was the window broken from the inside or the outside?” she finally asked.

“There was glass both inside and outside, but more inside. It appeared as though whoever broke the window purposely tipped some of the glass out into the garden, perhaps to create the appearance that someone entered or exited that way.”

“Which could have been her attempting to conceal a planned escape, or a criminal attempting to throw any investigators off of their track,” she mused. “What about the ripped dress? Was it old or new? In fashion or no?”

“It was a favorite from a year ago, her maid said. Rather worn.”

“And her room. Was anything left untouched that seemed odd, or was the ransacking a little too methodical?”

“It seemed false,” he admitted. “Only the top clothes in drawers were mussed, for example.”

“And there has been no ransom demand?”

“None.”

“And no sign of the lady about London, where I assume she was taken from?”

“You assume correctly. The family was in town because the season was about to start.”

“It would be very difficult to take someone from their home in London. Even the best houses are packed together on busy streets. The sound of a window breaking, or someone screaming, would be noticed very easily.”

“I agree.”

“And,” she ventured, taking a deep breath, “the entire plot sounds shockingly familiar. It is a novel released recently called The Marchioness Mystery.”

He had to confess that he was impressed with her. Very impressed.

“Shockingly good, Miss Ballard. You are correct on all counts.”

He pulled a copy of the book she had just mentioned from the inside of his jacket.

Her eyes widened when she saw it. “You’re carrying a copy with you?” she wondered faintly.

“Yes.”

“Just because of the case?

“Well, yes, but I must say that this author, whoever she is, writes the most tolerable mysteries I’ve ever read.”

“Mysteries?” she questioned.

“Clearly, whoever wrote this novel has written several others that came before it, though the publishers do not advertise them as being by the same author, for some reason.”

She stared at the book, and then at his face, quite unable to process what was happening.

“Miss Ballard?” he finally prodded her. “Are you quite all right?”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, folding her hands in her lap demurely. “May I trust that you will be discreet if I tell you a secret, Mr. Holmes?”

“Of course, Miss Ballard. Provided that the secret is not that you are a danger to anyone else.”

She laughed lightly. “No, it’s nothing like that. It is only reputations that would be damaged if this came to light.” She took a deep breath and nodded at the book in his hand. “I have never told anyone else this, Mr. Holmes, but… I wrote The Marchioness Mystery. And the other novels you mentioned that came before it.”

“The publishers didn’t want to appear to be flooding the market, by the way,” she added. “I write rather quickly.”

He tilted his head and gazed at her. Slowly, a smile spread across his face. “I think that I have underestimated you, Miss Ballard.”

“Is that a compliment, Mr. Holmes?” she teased softly.

“It might be, Miss Ballard.” After a moment of silence, he continued. “How would you suggest we proceed?”

“As the detective does in the novel,” she immediately answered. “We must search for Miss Beverley’s confidante. She most surely had one who knew all of her secret plans. They would also likely know if there is anyone who might hold a grudge against her that her family doesn’t know about. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

He shook his head. “It is one of the principal facts I have been hoping to find out by attending events with the ton. If you truly believe you can help me, I would like to go to as many as possible, and travel to various locations that might be pertinent to my investigation.”

“There’s only one problem with that, Mr. Holmes,” Robin revealed.

“And what’s that?”

“You are a man,” she pointed out, “which means you may move freely, as you please. If I spend time truly alone with you, however, I will be ruined, and so will my family, including my distant relations the Bridgertons, who have been nothing but kind to me. While I must admit that I don’t much care for the idea of marriage, I will not risk those close to me, even to accompany you.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Of course not,” she replied. “The world is made for you. As far as you’re concerned, women have been placed in it to serve you. To please you. To never step out of line, lest they risk everything.”

To her surprise, he smiled fondly at her. “You remind me of some very opinionated women I know,” he told her.

“Well, at least there’s more than one in London,” she decided, winking at him.

“So the only way you would be able to accompany me everywhere…” he began.

“We would have to be engaged,” she informed him. “But if we broke that engagement once your case was solved, our behavior would become scandalous after the fact, making it no better. Obviously, that’s out of the question, as is an engagement, since you never wish to be married.”

“So what is the solution?”

She shrugged. “I will help you whenever and wherever I can, Mr. Holmes. That will have to be enough.”

He nodded. He was rather disturbed at her revelation. His recent experience with his mother and sister had made him begin to think quite differently about women, and he had to admit that Miss Ballard was challenging his thinking even more.

“I believe that will do for now,” he assured her.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

He looked out over the audience from his box. “Perhaps you could give me a sort of primer. Explain who everyone is.”

“That would be very useful, sir. Of course.”

She began to point out various personages he would need to be aware of during his time with the ton. He listened raptly, wanting to prove to her that he was serious about using her help, though he had no idea why.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin grows increasingly frustrated with her situation, so she comes up with a solution, but opening her big mouth too soon might ruin it entirely.

Robin paced back and forth across the floor of her room. She stopped in front of the mirror to check her appearance one more time, cursing herself for caring so much about it.

The Duke of Hastings was going to be in attendance at dinner, and so was Sherlock Holmes. So here she was, concerned about how she looked, even though he’d honestly admitted to her that he was never going to marry.

She didn’t know why she insisted on trying so hard when there was clearly no point.

“Infuriating man,” she muttered under her breath. “Infuriating rules.”

She was frustrated that she couldn’t properly work his case with him. He wanted her to, and he clearly wasn’t going to be untoward. But that didn’t matter, according to society. If it had been only her reputation on the line, she would have thrown it to the wind, but she couldn’t take everyone down with her. It just wouldn’t be fair.

She’d been trying to think of a solution since the opera, but she was no closer to one. And now she had to endure dinner with him while everyone around them thought there was a chance that they would one day be wed.

It was all intolerable, but there was no way for her to get out of it.

“Robin, dear, are you ready?” Violet called.

“Coming!” she called back.

She rushed down the stairs, her light yellow muslin dress flowing out slightly behind her. She slowed when she reached the floor, taking a deep breath to calm herself and walking demurely into the dining room.

Sherlock Holmes was standing at the window, hands folded behind his back while he spoke with the Duke of Hastings. When he saw her out of the corner of his eye, he turned and smiled, then nodded at her.

She nodded back. She’d have to remind him of what she’d said about making sure his behavior didn’t imply he was seriously courting her.

Not that she would have minded if he was. She wasn’t in love with him or anything, she told herself. She simply reasoned that they were well-suited for each other in many ways.

It occurred to her that she could let him persist until it was no longer proper, at which point they would have to be wed. But entrapment was hardly what she was after, though it suited many women very well.

They couldn’t do anything regarding the case here tonight. Perhaps if she kept her distance, he’d get the point.

Though her aunt sat them next to each other, she kept her attention steadfastly elsewhere for the rest of the night, barely responding to Sherlock, and only when he spoke to her directly.

Violet watched her curiously, perhaps looking for signs that something had changed between them.

Robin could have told her the truth, but she didn’t want to damage Sherlock’s reputation either. He was simply being honest, and she wasn’t going to force him to share his thoughts with anyone else if he didn’t wish to.

As the night wore on, he became quieter and his brow furrowed in thought. But he said nothing to her about her disinterest, merely wishing her a good evening as he left.

She changed and got into bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She just stared at the ceiling, wishing there was some magical way to fix all of her problems.

But unless she could miraculously change into a man, she didn’t see that happening.

****

“I feel ridiculously ostentatious, Aunt Violet,” Robin admitted as the older woman finished adjusting the gown she’d bought for her.

It had been a surprise. Robin wouldn’t have accepted it if she could have avoided it, but it was useless to say no. And it would have been terribly rude of her. She knew that she had to be gracious about her aunt’s generosity, as guilty as it made her feel.

“I think you look lovely, Robin,” Violet disagreed, smiling triumphantly as she looked her up and down.

The dress was a shock of red silk embroidered with outlines of red roses done in damask. It had puffed sleeves, a low neckline, and swirled about her ankles perfectly. She had matching slippers and gloves, along with gold earrings and a necklace, both featuring molded roses.

“Here. Some color on your lips and cheeks will complete your ensemble,” Violet decided.

“No cheek rouge, please,” Robin requested. “I hate it, and it takes forever to get off.”

Violet laughed. “Very well, dear.”

She relented to having her lips filled in, frowning at the bright red color her aunt had chosen to match her dress. She looked entirely unnatural.

She was to meet Sherlock at the latest ball and show him how to circulate among the ton. As much as he wanted to immediately begin asking questions, she knew he couldn’t. He had to ingratiate himself first. He had to be accepted as one of them so they would bring him into their circle.

“We’re all ready.” Violet smiled in satisfaction. “Let’s go.”

A short carriage ride later, they were in a small boat heading to yet another opulent event. It was rather exhausting, Robin thought, and the season had only just begun. Perhaps it was more fun, she reflected, if one had actual suitors and a real chance at marriage. It wasn’t a futile exercise for everyone.

Robin’s breath caught in her throat as she realized Sherlock was waiting for her. He was dressed in all shades of gray this time, which was at least preferable to his usual brown, but still rather bland for such an event. Still, he was extraordinarily handsome, as always.

He offered her a hand to help her out of the boat and she accepted it, stepping onto the grass and trying not to trip in the process. She smiled at him rather self-consciously as his eyebrow quirked when he saw how she was dressed.

“Miss Ballard, you are a study in scarlet,” he observed.

She snorted. “Well, at least you’re learning to try and sound complimentary, even when you don’t mean it.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Was I that obvious?”

“Only to me,” she assured him. “The dress was a gift from my aunt.”

“I didn’t think it seemed like you.” He glanced towards the party. “Shall we?”

“Of course,” she answered, taking his arm. “We must waste no time attempting to make you charming, sir. It’s going to take a while.”

“Ha ha,” he said deprecatingly, looking down at her and winking. “I am your eager pupil, Miss Ballard.”

She spent the next hour directing him as to where to escort her, teaching him how to chat, how to grovel, and how to flatter so he could get the information he wanted out of people. It was just a beginning lesson, of course, but he paid attention, and she thought that was a victory in itself.

“You see?” she pointed out as they circulated back to where they’d started. “The trick is to convince them that you’re off the clock, so to speak. That you really are here courting, or at the very least, preparing to court. Then they’ll be disarmed.”

“I see. Thank you for being patient with me,” he remarked, reaching out and pushing a strand of hair back over her ear.

She coughed slightly and set her lips in a firm line. “Mr. Holmes,” she whispered, “do you remember what we discussed about not giving my aunt the impression that you are seeking my hand?”

“Of course, Miss Ballard.”

“When you touch me like that, you are doing quite the opposite,” she informed him. “Accompanying each other at these events, even sharing a dance once in a while, which will be essential to the ton seeing you as amiable, these things are not necessarily courting behavior. But coming to visit me at my aunt’s, especially for dinner, combined with being too intimate, crosses a line. Eventually, you may find that you’ve trapped yourself, unless you are quite content to abandon me to the disgrace that you’ve caused.”

“My apologies, Miss Ballard. I am still getting used to the way this portion of the world operates.”

His voice was soft and sincere. Truthfully, he was contemplating why he was being so free with her. It was not the way he usually acted at all.

“I understand. Mr. Holmes. Honestly, I’m quite impressed with how quickly you learn, and that you are so willing to have an open mind. Most men would hardly bother.”

“High praise coming from you, Miss Ballard,” he teased.

They found themselves standing at the edge of the dance floor, which was outside and made of beautiful dark wood planks flanked by white and gold pillars topped with lanterns. Sherlock tilted his head as the music stopped. Another dance was about to begin.

“Shall we, Miss Ballard?” he suggested impulsively. “You said dancing was essential.”

“It is, Mr. Holmes, so we shall.”

He helped her onto the platform and they took their places. She stared up into his blue eyes, stepping closer as more couples joined them.

The dance began. He moved so gracefully for a man of his size, holding even her larger frame easily as he briefly dipped her.

Fireworks began to explode overhead, and as she gazed at them, she realized that she could see them reflected in his eyes. The flashes hid the slight imperfection she’d found in the one, though she reflected that she rather enjoyed seeing it, when all was said and done.

As they whirled about each other, a plan suddenly formed in her mind. It was brash, and it was bold, but she knew without a doubt that it was perfect, as long as he would go along with it.

Her heart hammered in her chest as he dipped her one last time to end the dance. He was holding her in his strong arms, and their faces were practically touching. The unruly curl that often escaped to rest on his forehead was dangling enough to touch hers.

She took a deep breath and his scent filled her nose. It was spicy, cloves and musk with just a hint of plum, and it made her head spin.

She gripped him tightly and the words escaped her mouth before she could stop them.

“Marry me, Mr. Holmes.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin explains her rash proposal to Sherlock, hoping for a more favorable result.

Sherlock straightened abruptly, holding her in his arms for a moment before he let her go. He made sure she was steady on her feet before stepping back.

His mouth opened as if he was going to say something, but then he snapped it shut, turned, and quickly departed.

Robin closed her eyes and cursed herself. She couldn’t believe she had asked him like that, without giving him any warning or explaining what she really meant.

She could only hope that he’d be willing to listen the next time they spoke, whenever that might be.

Suddenly, Violet was beside her. “My dear, what happened? Why did Mr. Holmes leave so suddenly?”

“He recalled business he had to attend to, Aunt Violet,” she lied smoothly. “His profession requires him to keep odd hours, after all.”

“Oh, of course.”

Robin could tell that Violet knew she wasn’t telling the truth. She was a savvy woman. But she was also savvy enough not to ask for the moment, though she probably would if she became worried enough. Robin fully expected her aunt to sit her down for a serious conversation about the world’s greatest detective soon.

She hoped she would have something happy to report by then, but she would have to wait and see.

“Well, come join me, please,” Violet said, taking her arm. “The refreshments are absolutely lovely. The lamb and the cheesecake are positively exquisite.”

“I would love to try them,” Robin announced. “Let’s go.”

She comported herself well for the rest of the night, but Sherlock was always in the back of her mind.

She hoped she hadn’t ruined everything.

****

The next day, she accompanied Violet and Daphne to promenade. She was feeling much more like herself in one of her favorite dresses, which was a lovely spring green muslin decorated sparingly with yellow and purple flowers she’d embroidered on the edges of the sleeves, necklines, and skirt.

She glanced around, not really expecting Sherlock to be there, but hoping he would be nevertheless. She desperately wanted to explain so that, at the very least, he realized she hadn’t completely lost her mind the night before.

She sighed when she didn’t see him, but kept a slight smile on her face so no one would suspect that she was disappointed.

She was surprised when someone came up beside her, and even more surprised when she turned her head and saw that it was him.

She stopped in her tracks. “Mr. Holmes!” she exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’m very glad you’re here,” she rushed on before he could say anything. “Please, let me explain myself. It’s not what you think.”

She was shocked when he simply nodded. “I imagined there was more when I thought it over, Miss Ballard. Please accept my apologies for my hasty departure last night. I was simply not expecting your request.”

“Well, of course not. I spoke without thinking.”

He held his tongue so he didn’t tell her that was exactly why he’d left. He’d tried to respond to her last night with a logical answer, he really had, but in the moment, with her in his arms, all he’d wanted to say was yes.

It was a fact that honestly frightened him. He was not a man prone to emotion, and an attachment would only hinder him, even if it was to a woman as exceptional as her.

But he found it was even harder to keep his head around her now, when she was back to being her fetching normal self. Her lips were once again pink, the colors she wore much softer and suited to her.

Her scent was back to normal as well. Last night she had smelled like cherries and cinnamon, an odd combination he had assumed was chosen to match her gown. But now her intoxicating aroma of lavender and rosemary surrounded him and made it difficult to think.

“Shall we walk?” he suggested when he noticed that he’d extended the silence between them until it was far too long.

“Please, Mr. Holmes.”

She took his arm and he tried to lighten the mood with a joke. “I was under the impression that the man usually proposes, and under much more formal circumstances.”

She let out an embarrassed laugh. “Yes, Mr. Holmes. That is very true. And I know that you told me you have no interest in marriage, which I entirely respect, but please hear me out until I tell you my whole plan.”

“I will, Miss Ballard.”

He was very curious, especially when she used the word plan. He wanted to know what she was up to.

“You are a second son, Mr. Holmes,” she began matter-of-factly, “but your brother Mycroft is not married.”

“No, he’s not. If you’d met Mycroft, you’d understand why. He thinks it would take an extraordinary woman to tolerate me, but it would take an exceedingly extraordinary woman to tolerate him.”

She blushed at the idea of Sherlock needing an extraordinary woman, but grinned at his comment about his brother. “So I’ve heard, Mr. Holmes. Regardless, my point is that it may fall to you to produce an heir for your family, yes?”

He wrinkled his nose. “It very well may,” he agreed.

It was a curious responsibility, and one he had absolutely no interest in fulfilling, if only because of the physical acts involved. He had never had desires of that kind, and though he found himself reacting strangely to Miss Ballard, that was still not part of the equation.

“I am well aware that you are not bound to providing heirs for your family,” she continued. “But it is a consideration for you, and must therefore be addressed.”

“I am afraid I don’t understand just yet, Miss Ballard,” he confessed, biting his lip as he looked at her.

Her cheeks were unusually red, and she was clearly flustered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes. I’m nervous,” she admitted.

He slid his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand. “Don’t be, please. I’m listening.”

She looked at him, then at their intertwined hands, and nodded, taking a deep breath to center herself. “I have two options if I wish to live freely, Mr. Holmes. One is to not marry and risk being destitute at every turn because I must rely on the kindness of family, who may or may not be willing or able to care for me.”

“Do you not make money from your novels, Miss Ballard?” he asked quietly.

“I do,” she revealed, “but not nearly enough, even to live simply, which I would be perfectly satisfied with.”

“I see. Please go on.”

“The other option is to marry and hope that my husband will not disapprove of my literary ambitions, which is very unlikely, as I’m sure you already know.”

He nodded, thinking of what she had said previously about the world being made for men. His mother and sister, along with one of their friends, had made him very aware of that fact recently.

“What I suggest is not technically a marriage proposal as much as it is a business transaction,” she finally explained.

“A business transaction?” he repeated curiously.

“Yes. If we were to marry, you could live as you please, even apart from me, if you like. If it becomes necessary for you to produce an heir, I will give you one, or several, if you prefer. My Aunt Violet is going to give me a substantial dowry, as she already mentioned to you. And the estate that is currently my father’s, Norland Park, will pass to me upon his death, as you already know as well. Sadly, it is in disrepair at the moment, but I am more than capable of handling its renovation myself if I have the funds. It would be legally yours, since you would be my husband. The restoration of the estate is one of my terms, within reason, of course. I wouldn’t expect you to bankrupt yourself, but I would like it to be functional, at least. I would also like access to it at all times, though it would be completely within your right to banish me from its halls,” she acknowledged bitterly.

“I would not do such a thing, Miss Ballard,” he assured her gently.

“You understand my worry, I hope, Mr. Holmes,” she murmured. “Getting married is the less risky option for me, certainly, but if I marry a man who truly sees me as a possession, or comes to hate me because he discovers the truth about me, or because I do not give him sons, or for any other reason he might choose, his vindictiveness could know no bounds. Despite your eccentric nature, I do not think you are that kind of man, or we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Still, people change, sometimes for no apparent reason.”

“I hope I will only change for the better, Miss Ballard,” he replied sincerely, “and I am certain you would tell me if I wasn’t.”

“I would, as perilous as that might be.” She swallowed. “The only other thing I ask in return is that I be allowed to pursue my own interests. My novels would remain anonymous, of course, to preserve the reputations of all those involved. I would also help you with any more cases, if you desired it of me.”

“My only other caveat,” she finished, “is that this conversation remain between us, regardless of your answer. It would be entirely scandalous if it were discovered that we had this kind of bargain, or that I even suggested it. No matter what we do afterward, this season, the ton must believe us to be making a match for acceptable reasons, and to see us engaged and courting as is proper.”

“You have thought this through, I see, Miss Ballard.”

“I hope I have not been too convoluted, Mr. Holmes,” she sighed.

He shook his head. “No, I understand you perfectly, I believe, Miss Ballard.” He licked his lips. “Might I have some time to consider everything you’ve said?”

“Of course. I hardly expect you to answer now.”

“Thank you.”

He stopped walking, and she stopped along with him. He smiled at her reassuringly. “This will always be our secret, Miss Ballard, no matter what happens.”

Before she could reply, he raised her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles. She gasped at the feel of his mouth against her skin, feeling her own flush and a slight shiver move up her spine in response.

“I will give you my answer as soon as I have it, Miss Ballard,” he promised. “For now, I bid you farewell.”

She was unable to do anything but nod as he moved away from her. Shortly after, Violet was beside her and grabbing her arm.

“You have been spending quite a lot of time with the detective, Robin. Might he be planning to propose?” she wondered.

“I have no idea, Aunt Violet,” Robin answered truthfully. “But I would not be averse if he did.”

“Good,” she said happily. “I think he would be a lovely match for you.”

He would be. Robin knew that. The bargain she was attempting to strike was smart and fair.

What hadn’t occurred to her was how much it might hurt to be married to a man she had feelings for who had no feelings for her.

She wasn’t even entirely sure how she felt yet, but he was being rather confounding, and it wasn’t helping.

However, she merely attributed it to his inexperience within the ton. He didn’t feel anything for her. He wasn’t that type of man.

Regardless, the offer had been made. If the worst thing that happened to her in her life was that she had a kind husband who did not love her, she would consider herself lucky.

A broken heart was a small price to pay for a comfortable life that afforded her her freedom with no fear.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to decide whether or not to accept Robin’s offer.

Sherlock removed his cravat and shirt, folding them neatly and leaving them with his jacket and vest. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, his stomach muscles bunching with the effort.

He was tense, and rightly so. He’d been turning Miss Ballard’s offer over and over in his mind since she’d explained it.

So far, he could come up with no good reason to refuse her. He would be better able to navigate the ton both now and in the future if he were wed. He would appear to be fulfilling a family obligation, and she had even volunteered to provide him with heirs if that became necessary, which was more than generous, as far as he was concerned. Most importantly to him, perhaps, was the fact that he would have a wife who would not complain about his profession and the comings and goings it required.

Yet he still had misgivings. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be attached at all, even within an arrangement like this. While it was certainly the best offer he was likely to receive, that did not necessarily mean it was the right one for him. Unlike her, he had no technical need to marry. He could continue his life the way he pleased regardless, the censure of his brother be damned.

His thoughts were interrupted as the Duke of Hastings, Simon, came up to him. They had discussed boxing at the dinner they’d both attended at the Bridgerton house. Sherlock was known as an aficionado, and Simon was quite the hobbyist, so they had agreed that a match would be quite interesting between them.

“Hello, Sherlock,” Simon greeted him easily. “I hope you’re ready.”

“I am,” Sherlock declared, moving his head from side to side and cracking his neck.

He was hoping that exercise would clear his head and make the answer appear in front of him. While he was very good at solving logical problems, when emotions were involved, he was quite useless.

And there were many emotions involved, some of which he understood perfectly, and some which were entirely mysterious to him.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Simon challenged him, stepping up into the ring.

Sherlock chuckled and followed, turning and cocking his fists at the other man. “Gladly.”

They started to fight. Simon was shorter and leaner than the detective, but that meant he was faster too. Sherlock had to think fast to keep up, which he appreciated. It would keep him constantly occupied.

Even as he actively tried to think of anything but Miss Ballard, though, she was at the forefront of his mind.

There was nothing objectionable about taking her as a wife from a physical standpoint. While she was larger than most other women he’d seen so far during the season, her shape was pleasing. She was beautiful to him, and that was all that mattered if he was the one who was going to be her husband.

He threw a punch at Simon as he recalled her wavy hair, her soft skin flushed with laughter, and her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief as she teased him.

He threw another as her full pink lips and the way his own lips had felt against her knuckles rudely intruded on his much more rational musings.

He missed and Simon laughed. “Got something on your mind, Sherlock?”

“Always, Simon,” he replied through gritted teeth, attempting to focus.

She was also proper when it mattered, and delightfully otherwise when it did not. He had no doubt that she would perform any wifely duties very well, and not be an entirely intolerable companion in private.

But that hardly mattered if he didn’t want a companion.

He dodged Simon’s next volley, but just barely.

One easy part of the equation to remove was her dowry and estate. He didn’t need either of those things, and he had already decided that if he said yes to her proposal, he would let her keep both, along with any money she made from her writing endeavors.

That very clear and coherent fact helped him regain himself for a moment and he managed to catch Simon in the chest, making him stagger back.

The most pressing concern for him, honestly, was her request for freedom. While marrying benefited him only slightly, it benefited her greatly, and he wasn’t sure he could ignore her plea, especially after everything he’d gone through with his own family recently.

He may not have understood the ton in the way she did, but he knew enough to understand that she had few prospects. She had mentioned that her family estate needed serious repairs, and that her aunt was providing a dowry out of the goodness of her heart. It was also plain from the way she behaved that she was older, which made her less desirable.

Additionally, she had a lovely brain between her ears, which many men would not appreciate at all. In fact, for most, it would actively work against her.

One of the reservations he had was the possibility that she might truly fall in love at some point in the future. Then she would be shackled to him, unable to have a conventional relationship with a man she truly desired.

The other far more frustrating reservation was his confusion about his own feelings. He felt strange around her, for lack of a better word, and increased proximity, even for a short time, might exacerbate that problem.

But he didn’t know if he could really abandon her and her perfectly reasonable plan simply because she made him feel odd sometimes. That hardly seemed right, considering what she had to bear in this world.

Simon caught him in the face hard. He stumbled and wiped his mouth, grimacing when his hand came back bloody.

“You all right, Sherlock?” Simon wondered.

“Fine,” Sherlock said shortly, abruptly bending and exiting the ring. “Thank you!” he called back over his shoulder as he found his clothes.

“For what?” Simon yelled. “And where are you going?”

“For knocking some sense into me,” Sherlock explained as he wiped himself off with a towel before getting dressed. “I have an impromptu appointment I must attend. You were kind to invite me,” he remembered to add, thinking that Miss Ballard would chastise him for his bad manners if she were here. “We should do it again sometime when I am less busy.”

“Certainly!” Simon agreed, then began to spar with his friend instead.

Sherlock shrugged back into his jacket and headed out to the street. Simon’s strike had provided a moment of clarity that he couldn’t ignore.

There was no argument he could make against Miss Ballard’s proposed arrangement. She expected nothing from him but fairness. She deserved it, he could provide it, and she had been nothing but gracious with him since they’d met.

But there was one more thing he had to do before he could return to her and tell her his answer.

As much as he didn’t want to, he had to go and speak to his brother.

****

Not much later, Sherlock entered the Diogenes Club. It was rare to find Mycroft anywhere else, unless he was working, especially since he’d washed his hands of their sister Enola and given all of that responsibility to Sherlock, just as the detective had requested.

Indeed, he was there, sitting in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper and drinking a sherry with a sneer on his face. He looked more like a weasel than a man, and a very displeased one at that.

Sherlock blew out a breath. Very technically, he didn’t need his brother’s permission to marry, but he knew it would be much worse for him if Mycroft were to read about it, rather than be told personally.

So he wasted no time. He sat beside his brother quickly, waving away the man approaching to ask if he wanted a drink, and announced, “Hello, Mycroft. I’ve come to tell you that I shall be proposing to a lady shortly, and will be married soon after that, provided that she says yes.”

Mycroft folded the top half of his newspaper down and stared at his brother critically. “You think a woman will say yes to your proposal?” he questioned flatly.

“I am fairly confident, yes,” he answered, mindful that Miss Ballard had sworn him to secrecy in regard to her plan.

“Does she know you? It will be incredibly difficult to convince a woman to marry you if she actually knows you,” Mycroft observed deprecatingly.

“No more difficult than it would be to convince a woman to marry you, brother,” Sherlock retorted.

Mycroft huffed and raised his paper. “Well, who is she, then? Lord knows we’ve had enough scandal in this family. I’d like to avoid more.”

“Her name is Robin Ballard.”

Before he could continue, Mycroft interrupted him. “Countess Robin Ballard?”

Sherlock was stunned for a moment. He hadn’t actually known Miss Ballard was a countess. She had never introduced herself as such. It was a meaningless title, really, but the ton seemed to be particularly addicted to meaningless titles. The fact that she hadn’t used hers further increased her charm, at least to him.

“I did not know she was a countess,” Sherlock admitted.

Mycroft laughed. “Of course you didn’t. You never notice important things like that. She’s a countess because there was some sort of scandal with her mother shortly after she was born.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Sherlock confessed.

“It’s not ideal, but it’s in the past and has apparently been legally resolved. You’ll want to check with her father to make sure before you’re wed. We will not be known as men who abandon our families, so you will have to deal with whatever comes with her.”

“I’ll make the proper inquiries,” Sherlock promised.

Miss Ballard would tell him the truth, surely. That would satisfy him. It wouldn’t satisfy Mycroft, but he didn’t have to know.

Mycroft flipped his newspaper down again. “I’ve heard she’s intolerably poor, though.”

“Her aunt, Violet Bridgerton, is providing her dowry,” Sherlock corrected him. “And she has an estate, Norland Park, that will be hers upon her father’s death. It needs some repairs, but she assures me it can be restored.”

“Not the most impressive inheritance, but it will do, I suppose,” Mycroft decided blithely. “The Bridgertons are an excellent family, to be sure. Too bad you couldn’t marry one who actually had the name.”

“You’re being awfully picky, Mycroft. I thought you would be happier,” Sherlock pointed out.

Mycroft sighed. “Fine, fine. I approve. If she actually says yes, inform me and I will get you a marriage license you can use at any time. Knowing you and your work, you’ll change the date of your wedding five times before it actually happens.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mycroft. Thank you.” Sherlock stood. “I’ll leave you to your business.”

“Very well,” Mycroft replied absentmindedly, already paying more attention to whatever story he was reading.

Sherlock intended to go straight to the Bridgerton house and inform Miss Ballard of his decision. He wanted to give her peace of mind, and this would surely be a start.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gives Robin his answer.

Robin was trying valiantly to convince her aunt she was reading, but it was becoming rather obvious that she was doing anything but.

She was really hoping that Sherlock might visit and tell her his answer. Whether it was yes or no, at this point she just wanted to know.

But, of course, she had no idea when to expect him, which was making her exceedingly anxious.

It was almost time for tea when a servant came in to announce a visitor. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes for Miss Ballard.”

Somehow, Robin managed to close her book and set it aside demurely. Violet was smiling from ear to ear. “Bring a separate tea to Mr. Holmes and Miss Ballard in the parlor,” she ordered.

Before Robin could say anything, Violet had scurried off. She took a deep breath. This was exactly what she’d wanted, and now that he was here, she was even more nervous. But she put on a brave face and went to the parlor.

Sherlock was standing by the window, his hands folded behind his back as a servant set out a complete tea for them on the table.

Robin nodded her thanks as the servant left, and then they were alone.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes,” she murmured, feeling heat spread over her cheeks as he turned to face her.

“Hello, Miss Ballard,” he greeted her. He was smiling, and he seemed content. She wondered what that meant. “I have come to inform you that…”

He was interrupted by his stomach growling loudly. He grimaced sheepishly as Robin burst out laughing, unable to help herself.

“Please sit down, Mr. Holmes, and have something to eat,” she invited him.

He sighed and sat. “It occurs to me that I haven’t eaten at all yet today,” he realized ruefully. “My apologies.”

“Does that happen often? You forgetting to eat?” she wondered.

“Unless someone’s looking after me, yes,” he admitted.

“You should take better care of yourself,” she observed, and began to make them each a plate.

There was good white bread, roasted pork, salmon, several kinds of cheese, and black pepper scones with butter. He accepted his plate gratefully and began to eat, putting some pork onto bread and rolling up the piece so it was gone in two bites, as she poured their tea.

“Aunt Violet prefers a heartier, more savory tea in the afternoon,” Robin explained. “I must say I prefer it as well. I hope you do too.”

“I do, especially right now,” he agreed.

Then he reached across the table and placed his hand over hers, squeezing it gently. “Please be at ease, Miss Ballard. I am here to accept your proposal.”

She gasped softly and looked up at him. “Truly, Mr. Holmes?”

“Truly. I have even secured my brother’s permission to propose.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you need that?”

He chuckled. “Not particularly, but I thought it prudent.” He paused. “He… brought up something that I would like to ask you about.”

“Of course,” she replied easily. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“He mentioned a scandal involving your mother,” he began, stopping when she instantly became pale at the words.

Her tea cup shook in her hand and she quickly set it down. His brow furrowed worriedly and he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Miss Ballard. I didn’t mean to upset you, not at all,” he told her sincerely. “Mycroft said whatever happened was legally resolved, and it makes no difference to me. I merely wanted to separate rumor from fact.”

“As is your right, Mr. Holmes. It has simply been so long since it happened, and thankfully I’ve never had to talk about it.”

“You do not have to tell me,” he insisted. “I had no idea it was painful.”

Normally, when faced with a mystery, even one of no consequence to him, he didn’t much care about the feelings surrounding it. But now, he found that he couldn’t bear to see her hurt because of his inquiries.

“You deserve to know, Mr. Holmes,” she decided. “It concerns you, since we are to wed.” She gestured at his plate. “Please, continue eating while I talk.”

He nodded reluctantly, waiting for her to begin.

She closed her eyes briefly to compose herself, then started.

“My mother did not want to marry my father. That is not so unusual, of course. Many women do not wish to marry the men who become their husbands. She was not given a choice, which is also not unusual. She and my father were wed, and shortly after, she discovered she was with child.”

“You?” he questioned.

“Yes. I was the only child they had.”

“Why did your mother not like your father? Did he treat her unkindly?”

“I myself do not know. My father enlisted a woman named Betsy Haver to be my mother’s personal maid, and she is still with our family. I trust her above anyone else in this world, including myself. According to her stories, my father was much as he is now. Obsessed with propriety and appearance, convinced that he always knows right from wrong, and wanting to be in control of everything. He’s quite intolerable, but he’s not cruel, if that’s what you mean.”

He was glad to hear that, at least. He knew that men could be exceptionally cruel to women. He had witnessed his own brother be that way to his sister. And he had been cruel by not intervening earlier than he did.

“A new doctor from the city had just settled near the estate. He was much older, and just as imperious, according to Betsy. But, for some reason, my mother thought he was better than my father. She saw his wealth as not being tied down, apparently, and his skills as giving them the freedom to go anywhere they desired. Honestly, I don’t even know if she loved him, from the way it was talked about in the village. It sounds like she looked at what he could give her and considered only that.”

“She abandoned me the same night I was born and ran with him. It was risky, considering the state of her health, but my father was sequestered and wallowing because I was not a boy, so she knew he wouldn’t notice.”

“Who cared for you in your mother’s absence?”

A child that young was unlikely to survive without its mother, he knew.

“I only survived because Betsy had also recently had a child. Tragically, her son died several days after his birth, but she still had milk, so she became my wet nurse. My mother, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Thank goodness for her,” he whispered gratefully.

He’d never let go of her hand, though it made eating slightly awkward. And he didn’t intend to.

She touched her neck self-consciously and glanced at him, her eyes sparkling. “You’re kind to say so, Mr. Holmes.” She paused to take a sip of tea, her hand steadier now. “My father was quite undone by my mother fleeing. Not because he cared for her, particularly, but because of his reputation. Some men never recover from such a thing. But, whether he deserved it or not, gossip blamed the doctor and his corrupting influence on my mother. My father suffered some ill talk because of his inability to rein her in, of course. But otherwise, he was quite mercifully untouched.”

She sampled some of the salmon and considered her next words. “Still, it mattered little to him. He felt disgraced. He ceased to run the estate and care for it properly, and he ignored me entirely. Betsy took over my care, and my education, when I was old enough. She taught me how to read and write, and bought novels for me. Thankfully, my father had a respectable library of historical and religious texts already. She couldn’t afford to procure books like that. And her husband Donald took over the running of the estate as best as he could.”

“Is that why it is in such poor shape?” Sherlock buttered a scone as he spoke. “Because your father failed to fulfill his duty?”

“Yes. Donald did his best, but without the help my father’s connections would have provided, the surrounding area fell into hard times. He slowly closed portions of the house, rather than letting the people on the land starve to keep it open. And I approve of what he did, wholeheartedly. A whole class of people should not suffer for one family’s comfort.”

“Your kindness is exceptional, Miss Ballard. I find that it is most often those less fortunate who are the kindest.”

“I am hardly wholly unfortunate, Mr. Holmes. I am much better off than most. But when you have experienced misfortune, I’ve found it’s much easier to empathize with others who have as well. It creates a natural desire to ease their burdens.”

They were silent for a moment, her out of embarrassment at extolling her own virtues, him out of admiration for her.

He coughed slightly and brought them back to the purpose of their conversation. “What did Mycroft mean when he said the matter of your mother was legally resolved?”

“The one thing my father did do was make sure that my mother was cut off from any of his assets, even after his death. He didn’t pursue divorce, as that would have entailed further disgrace, but legally, she has no right to anything of his at all. That’s what your brother alluded to.”

“Does Donald still run the estate now?”

“I do, actually. It’s not exactly what my aunt meant when she said I could run an estate, obviously, but Donald began to teach me as soon as I could understand, and he still helps. I’ve done my best to reestablish my father’s connections, even writing under his name, but after being neglected for so long, it’s not enough. And they don’t want to hear from his daughter either, which is precisely why a husband’s name would be useful to me. I could erase the wrongdoings of the past, perhaps.”

“Well, my name should do quite a deal of good for you in that way, Miss Ballard. And I have many connections of my own, so if your father’s old ones are no longer interested, we can simply make new ones.”

“I’d appreciate that, Mr. Holmes.”

“So you run your father’s estate and manage a writing career? Is there anything else you do, Miss Ballard?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes at him affectionately. “Well, Betsy also instructed me in many of the household chores. It’s not proper for a lady such as myself to do them, but they are our only servants, and I was hardly going to run them ragged for my own comfort when they had done so much for me already. I know how to cook, clean, and garden, among other things.”

He laughed heartily. “Incredible. I think that’s quite admirable, Miss Ballard. You are a most skilled woman indeed. More skilled than anyone gives you credit for, least of all yourself.” He savored the pinking of her cheeks as she shyly reacted to the compliment. “So Betsy and Donald are still with you?”

“Yes. I manage to pay them, and I always will. They have a place with me for as long as they want one.”

Her voice was firm, and he knew she was relaying another term of their spoken contract. “As they should, Miss Ballard. Your loyalty is uplifting.” He paused. “Is there more to your story?”

“Not much,” she finished. “My father is not particularly fond of me, though I have tried to please him within reason. He hardly ever leaves his rooms, so he’s never found out about my writing. He would be furious if he did. Betsy takes the packages to the post for me so no one knows they come from the house. I am trying to do my best to restore dignity to our family, though he makes it very difficult, and my position as a poor woman, even one of an upper class, does not do much for us.”

She seemed relieved, and for that he was thankful. “I’ve never told anyone all of that before, Mr. Holmes. It was quite freeing.”

“It gave me a much clearer understanding of you, Miss Ballard.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully and her eyes widened as she gazed at him. “Do you have additional questions, Mr. Holmes?”

“I am curious about several things, if you would indulge me, Miss Ballard.”

“I will.”

“You seem to have a deep sense of responsibility to your family, especially considering that you have previously informed me that the idea of marriage doesn’t particularly appeal to you. Yet your family does not appear to have treated you particularly well. Why do you feel such an obligation?”

He already knew that she possessed an excellent character, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to know more.

She seemed much less nervous about answering this particular question, at least. “My family is not just my mother and father, Mr. Holmes. The Bridgertons, for instance, may be my very distant relations, but they are still my family. I do not wish to drag them down through my actions, and I also do not want to be an unnecessary burden on them.”

“A burden?”

“We discussed some of my options outside of marriage, Mr. Holmes. I am well aware that my Aunt Violet would never allow me to be destitute. She’s made many overtures of help to my father before now for my sake, but he is far too proud, so he refused them. And I am uncomfortable taking too much, even when she offers. I came here because my father ordered me to, yes, but I promised myself that I would make at least an effort to find a suitable husband. I do not want my aunt to think that I wish to take advantage of her kindness and just assume that she will care for me if I never find a match. It is one thing if I marry and am later widowed and require her help. That is perfectly acceptable, according to society. But being a spinster is seen as a failure on a woman’s part, though there are many other factors determining whether a woman marries or not. And while I am more than willing to work to earn my living, it is ridiculously not appropriate for a woman of my rank to do so. It’s a game of sorts, really, and often a futile one, but I am trying to do what is best for all involved and win, if such a thing is possible.” She hesitated. “And that includes you, Mr. Holmes. I hope you know that.”

He tightened his grip on her hand. “Please don’t take offense to this, Miss Ballard, but was this your plan all along? This arrangement? Would you have made it with any man you deemed worthy?”

He wanted her answer to be no. He wanted to be special to her somehow.

He was gratified when she blinked rapidly in shock. “It was not my intention at all, Mr. Holmes. I am sure that I must seem desperate to you, since a woman proposing is never heard of.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, Miss Ballard. You gave me a choice, and your terms are more than fair. That’s hardly desperate. You haven’t attempted to trap me, for instance.”

“And I wouldn’t, though I easily could have, considering how you’ve been behaving,” she reminded him archly. “I merely saw an opportunity to benefit both of us. My dignity and pride, though I try as best as I can to preserve them, must come second to my knowledge and practicality. And though I realize that our arrangement certainly benefits me more than it benefits you, I feel that is a fair request to make. You have far more privilege than I will ever have, and you shall not suffer at all because of our marriage.”

“I will not. You have said it more eloquently than I ever could have, Miss Ballard, but it is one of the reasons I am saying yes to you.”

“Does that have anything to do with the recent adventure that involved your sister?”

“You are quite astute, Miss Ballard.”

He didn’t say more, and she didn’t press him. They fell into a comfortable quiet as they finished their tea, only speaking to request food or drink from the other.

When he was finished eating, he wiped his mouth with a napkin, then glanced at her. “What is our next step, Miss Ballard?”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, though I have already technically proposed, you must propose to me in order for it to be proper.”

He grimaced and she laughed. “What do I do, Miss Ballard? Please, give me some guidance.”

“I cannot give you too much, Mr. Holmes, or else it will not seem genuine. Come tomorrow with flowers and make your intentions clear to my aunt. She’ll negotiate her terms, though I imagine they will not be nearly as stringent as mine.”

“What kind of flowers do you like?”

She winked at him. “You’re a detective. Figure it out.”

“Challenge accepted, Miss Ballard.”

He stood and so did she. Then she unexpectedly swayed. Before she could right herself, he had stepped forward and embraced her, holding her safely against his chest.

It had been entirely instinctual, but it was an instinct that he didn’t usually possess.

After a moment, she put her arms around him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes. I have been on edge since I made my impromptu request, and now that we have settled, I find myself quite exhausted.”

“It is my fault for making you wait so long, Miss Ballard.”

Their voices were barely above a whisper. In that moment, he would have sworn that no one else but the two of them existed in the world.

“Hardly,” she protested. “It’s an important decision that affects you greatly. I expected you to need time.”

Her cheek rested against his chest contentedly. She was warm and soft against him, and he found himself dropping his head until his nose brushed her hair so he could breathe in her scent.

Something deep in his belly tightened. For the first time, he not only wanted to keep someone close, but to have them closer.

In a flurry of weakness, he asked her something else that had been on his mind ever since her impromptu proposal.

“Why me, Miss Ballard? Surely almost any other man would be better.”

She shook her head instantly. “No, Mr. Holmes.” She tilted her face up so she could look into his eyes as she answered. “You are a logical and reasonable man, Mr. Holmes. I knew that you would see the value in my suggestion and analyze it for what it was.”

“I see.”

She smiled. “That’s not all, though, Mr. Holmes. More importantly, I admire and respect you. You work, even though you don’t have to, and the work you do helps people. You are dedicated and choose to hone your craft because you can. You can be surly and impatient, to be sure, but you are also willing to listen and learn. That is very admirable.”

She laughed lightly to herself. “What I’m trying to say, Mr. Holmes, is that you are a good man. That is rare enough, even without your other qualities.”

“You’re very kind, Miss Ballard.”

He didn’t say more. He was too afraid of saying something he couldn’t take back while his guard was down.

Slowly, they separated. He kept hold of her hands. “Tomorrow, then,” he confirmed.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. Tomorrow. Please remember that this plan must stay between us. If anyone were to hear of it, especially Lady Whistledown, it could ruin us both. I would hate for your professional reputation to suffer because of me.”

“It is our secret, Miss Ballard. I also hope that we can begin a more thorough investigation of my case once we are officially engaged.”

“We must,” she concurred. “I still believe that if we can find Miss Beverley’s confidante, we will discover her plan. That is what reminds me that we must be so careful with our own secrets.”

“You are abundantly clever, as always, Miss Ballard.”

He let her escort him to the front door. Violet was in the sitting room, clearly waiting for them.

“Mr. Holmes, thank you so much for visiting us again. It is always such a pleasure.”

She looked expectantly between the two of them and Sherlock stepped forward. “It is a pleasure for me as well, Mrs. Bridgerton. I hope I may call on you tomorrow. I have some matters to discuss with you regarding your niece.”

Violet lit up like a shooting star and Robin giggled, raising her hand to cover her mouth. “Of course, Mr. Holmes. I would be delighted.”

“I am very much looking forward to it.” He turned to Robin, lifted her hand, and kissed it again, just like he had the other day. “Good evening, Miss Ballard.”

“Good evening, Mr. Holmes.”

He left her standing in the foyer, staring at her knuckles where his lips had touched her skin. Violet’s hands were clasped under her chin and she was radiant. She quickly moved to Robin’s side and hugged her.

“Is he going to ask for your hand, my dear?”

“I believe so, Aunt Violet.”

“Oh, I am so proud of you,” she told Robin excitedly. “I know you weren’t particularly looking forward to the season and were simply putting on your best face for me, but I can see that the detective has feelings for you and will treat you well.”

Robin hugged her back. Her aunt was right. Even though Sherlock’s feelings for her weren’t precisely what Violet thought, Robin knew that there was something there, and that no matter what happened between them in the future, they would be happy.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock proposes.

The next day, Robin dressed in her favorite spring green dress again. She felt more serene than she’d ever felt, and she was enjoying the sense of inner peace she’d had since Sherlock had agreed to their marriage.

She had anticipated a quiet day in the sitting room with her aunt while they waited for him to arrive, but it was not to be.

When he did arrive, a bouquet of pink roses in his hand, he was surprised to find the house in disarray. Robin was waiting for him, and she smiled apologetically as she pulled him aside so they could talk privately.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly, reaching out and squeezing her upper arm. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Holmes,” she assured him. “But I am afraid your proposal must be delayed. My cousin Daphne is in trouble, and I fear I must ask you for yet another favor.”

“You can ask me for anything, Miss Ballard,” he informed her. “We are to be married, which makes the Bridgertons my family.”

She blinked up at him and several tears appeared in her eyes. “That is very generous, Mr. Holmes.”

He smiled, letting his hand slide down her arm so he could clasp her fingers. “Tell me what you require.”

She took a deep breath and explained. “A truly odious man, Nigel Berbrooke, is threatening to trap Daphne into marriage. He approached her while she was alone at a recent ball and was most inappropriate in his attempt to get her to accept his proposal. Now he is planning to use the brief time they were alone to cause a scandal if she doesn’t say yes.”

“And you need something to use against him to force him to stop,” Sherlock realized.

“Yes. Aunt Violet and I are inviting his mother to tea, and the servants in the kitchen are going to attempt to extract some gossip from hers, but if that doesn’t work, we have to have something else in reserve.”

“I’ll find something,” he promised her. “Everyone has secrets.”

“Indeed,” she sighed, gazing up at him. “Thank you so much. I feel terrible asking you for something more so soon.”

“Don’t, Miss Ballard, please,” he implored her. He glanced around and then lowered his voice. “This may not be a love match, but we are friends, are we not?”

She nodded. “Of course, Mr. Holmes.”

“Then you may ask me for anything and never apologize for it,” he said gently.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

She squeezed his fingers tighter. He stood there, holding her hand and staring into her eyes, quite suddenly unwilling to let go.

They were interrupted by Violet, who stopped short when she came into the room. “Oh, Mr. Holmes,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. I will not have time to speak to you today.”

He shook his head and turned to her. “Don’t apologize, Mrs. Bridgerton. Miss Ballard has requested my assistance in your matter, and I am happy to help. I will return once I have something for you.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes.” Violet placed her hand over his, which was still holding Robin’s. “I very much wish we didn’t have to postpone our talk.”

“As do I. But it is a noble cause that derails us.” 

“It is. Oh, Mr. Holmes, if you could help my daughter, I would be forever in your debt.”

“That will not be necessary, Mrs. Bridgerton, but thank you.”

Violet stepped back, removing her hand from his. He in turn removed his from Robin’s, albeit reluctantly. “I will leave immediately, but first.” He presented the pink roses to Robin. “These are for you, Miss Ballard.”

“They’re beautiful, Mr. Holmes. Thank you.” She smiled at him mischievously. “Pink roses signify the beginning of a new relationship, do they not?”

“Ah, I see that you are fluent in floriography, Miss Ballard. It is a favorite pastime of my mother and sister.”

“I am aware, Mr. Holmes. I remember seeing the messages your sister sent to your mother in the paper and deciphering them. Please send an iris presently if you need more information from us.”

He grinned. “I will, Miss Ballard.” He reached out and thumbed the edge of one of the roses. “They also stand for elegance, grace, and sophistication. I thought it was an apt description of you.”

She blushed and clutched the flowers delicately to her chest. “That’s very flattering, Mr. Holmes,” she murmured.

“I’m glad you think so, Miss Ballard. I hope to return soon with favorable news. Please excuse me.”

He left her standing in the front room with her aunt. She smelled her flowers as Violet came to hug her.

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. I am sure you were hoping to get things settled today.”

“Nonsense, Aunt Violet. I can wait until Daphne is safe again. I don’t want to call that ridiculous man family either.”

That made her aunt laugh, which Robin was grateful for. She quickly took her flowers to her room, then returned downstairs to help.

****

By the time Sherlock returned the next day, the danger had passed. Their tea had revealed exactly what they needed, and Lord Berbrooke was no longer an issue.

Sherlock was pleased to find the house more calm this time as he was taken to see Violet and Robin. Robin smiled brilliantly at the sight of him and he smiled back.

“I heard that Lord Berbrooke might be spending the rest of the season in the country,” he observed.

Violet rose. “Yes, thank goodness. I would never have forgiven myself if Daphne had had to marry that man.”

He took something from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Violet. “I found proof of what you have already discovered. You do not require it now, of course, but I wish you to keep it, just in case.”

Violet took the paper. “You are too kind, Mr. Holmes. I don’t suppose you would let me pay you for your work?”

He smirked and shook his head. “No, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

“You and my niece will make a very good match, then, as she is uncomfortable with accepting my money as well.” She paused. “That is what you wish to discuss, is it not?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Shall we go to the study?” Violet suggested, gesturing in that direction.

Sherlock hesitated. “I do not mind if Miss Ballard hears our discussion, as long as you are comfortable with that.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes. Please, have a seat.”

He moved to sit beside Robin, reaching out and taking her hands in his. She looked at him curiously as Violet sat down across from them.

“Mrs. Bridgerton, I must confess that I never intended to marry,” Sherlock began. “However, I also never thought that I would meet someone like Miss Ballard. She is intelligent, kind, and beautiful, and she certainly keeps me on my toes.”

Robin rolled her eyes at him and he quirked an eyebrow. “It’s true,” he challenged her before looking back to Violet. “Most call me eccentric, and they’re right. Even my own family doubted that I could find a woman brave enough to tolerate me, not to mention my job. But I think Miss Ballard is more than up to the task. I can’t imagine a better woman for me than her.”

Robin blushed at the sheer number of compliments as he continued. “As for the matter of her dowry, Mrs. Bridgerton, I wish for you to take whatever it would have been and give it to Miss Ballard. She can put it in trust to do what she wishes with it.”

Violet’s eyes widened and Robin gasped, but he kept speaking. “Her estate shall also remain hers, as far as I am concerned. I know she cannot legally own it, but I intend for her to make all decisions regarding it. It is her childhood home and she knows it best.”

“I will also pay for the wedding, and take over all of Miss Ballard’s expenses until we are married,” he finished.

“Mr. Holmes,” Robin protested immediately, “that’s too much.”

“It is hardly enough, Miss Ballard,” he disagreed. “As long as your aunt is agreeable to our match, I thought you could join me in the city for tea tomorrow and we could visit the modiste. A woman requires wedding clothes, yes?”

“Yes, she does, Mr. Holmes,” Violet replied. “That is exceedingly magnanimous of you. I accept your terms.”

“Aunt Violet!” Robin complained.

He was giving her everything, and it felt like she was giving him nothing in return.

“Your aunt is slightly less stubborn than you, I see, Miss Ballard,” Sherlock teased. “I only have one more request.”

“No,” Robin replied immediately, glaring at him.

He chuckled. “Now that we are engaged, as long as you accept me, that is, I would like you to call me Sherlock. And I would like to call you Robin.”

“Oh,” she relented sheepishly, her eyes softening as she glanced up at him through her lashes. “Of course I accept you… Sherlock.”

“Thank you, Robin.”

He raised her hand and kissed it as Violet stood. “Wonderful. I am so happy for you both. I can tell that you care for and regard each other highly. Mr. Holmes, would you stay for dinner?”

“I would love to, Mrs. Bridgerton. Thank you.”

“Very good. I will see to the preparations. Please stay as long as you like.”

He waited until she was gone and then looked at Robin nervously. “Was that all right?” he wondered.

She made a small sound of disbelief. “It was… rather grand, actually, Sherlock. Did you…”

She trailed off and shook her head as if she’d caught herself just in time.

“Did I what, Robin?” he questioned.

“Well, did you… mean it?”

“Every word.”

“You were still far too selfless,” she insisted hurriedly.

“I wasn’t. I made you a promise, Robin. I promised you as much freedom as I can give you within this society, and that is what I am giving to you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it more than I can say.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Then he put his arm around her and pulled her into his side.

“I hope you know that this is not an obligation or a chore for me, Robin. I chose this, and I am very happy.”

She leaned against him gratefully. “I’m glad, Sherlock. I am very happy as well.”

“Good.”

He turned his nose into her hair so he could smell her scent again, then kissed the top of her head. She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed.

“I thought we could marry at the end of the season,” he added. “After the case is solved.”

“I think that sounds lovely,” she agreed.

Sitting with him like this, she could almost have been convinced that they were actually in love. She felt a tiny flare of disappointment that they weren’t, but that had never been the point. While matches made because of love were becoming much more popular lately, it was too unrealistic for her to wait for something that might not ever happen.

She had found a good man who would do right by her because he respected her and was her friend. That was far more than most women would ever find, so she would be content.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Robin spend a day together.

Sherlock smiled at Robin across the tea table. She was beaming from ear to ear, and despite her repeated assertion that she was only distantly related to the Bridgertons, he had come to realize that she looked exactly like her aunt when she smiled like that.

Multiple people had approached them to congratulate them on their engagement, which Violet had immediately told everyone about. He could see that an enormous weight had been lifted from Robin’s shoulders. She had fulfilled a family obligation, and her future was looking bright.

In this moment, he was having a hard time believing that he’d ever considered not being a part of it.

Of course, the plan was still for them to separate shortly after their marriage, as far as he knew. He supposed he should enjoy their time together while they had it. Surely he’d be tired of her companionship by then anyway. There was no point in convincing her to prolong something neither of them would want by the end of the season.

“Try this one,” she urged him, holding up one of the cakes they had been served.

He was glad for the interruption to his dour thoughts. The tea shop he’d brought her to was Enola’s favorite, and she was enjoying it too, which made him exceedingly happy.

He leaned forward and opened his mouth teasingly. She raised her eyebrows, then giggled and fed him the cake.

He chewed, nodding his approval at her, winking as he wiped crumbs from his lips with a napkin.

“How would you like to proceed with your case now that I am free to accompany you, Mr. Holmes?” she asked obligingly, selecting another cake.

“I would like you to come with me to Miss Beverley’s various residences, Robin,” he informed her. “I’ve been to them already, of course, but I want to see what you think. Perhaps your more expansive knowledge of women might reveal some secret information or hiding places I did not find.”

“Well, Sherlock, I’m glad you’ve so quickly come to see how useful a woman’s perspective can be,” she replied with mock gravity. “I think that’s an excellent plan.”

“Speaking of plans,” Sherlock continued, “we have to make some. For our marriage.”

She nodded. “Yes, we do.” She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. “Do you see yourself living in the city or the country, Sherlock? I assume the city, considering your work.”

It wasn’t exactly the question he had expected, but he was willing to follow where she led. “Actually, I prefer living in the country. When I am working, the proximity of my flat is generally optimal, but as you know, my cases can take me anywhere, so that’s not always true.”

“So where do you see yourself settling?”

He shrugged. “I hadn’t thought much about it until recently. Mycroft and I both live in the city, and the estate was always meant for my mother and sister. Now that’s not the case, but it technically belongs to Mycroft, and I never thought to ask for it.”

She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “I know we talked about living separately, Sherlock, but if you would like, we could renovate a wing of Norland for you. I would stay out of your way whenever you desired it. But I want you to be comfortable, and I don’t want you to have to buy your own estate just because you think we can’t live together in peace. Unless you want your own estate, of course,” she finished, biting her lip nervously.

He chuckled and reached out to grab her hand, squeezing it gently. Despite his earlier assurances to himself that he would tire of her, her suggestion of living together in her vast estate, which hadn’t occurred to him, wasn’t an entirely unpleasant one.

“I think there might be some merit to that idea,” he admitted softly.

She brightened again. “I don’t want you to think I am disillusioned about what we are to each other, Sherlock. But some proximity would be useful for your work, and if it ever became necessary for us to have children. I wouldn’t want them to not know their father, especially when he is so extraordinary. And I hope we will always be friends, as we’ve previously stated.”

“We will be,” he reassured her, his brow furrowing at the thought of children.

That was an obligation he was still quite certain he didn’t want to have to fulfill, but he supposed they would cross that bridge when they came to it. At the very least, he knew she wouldn’t force the issue. That decision was up to him.

They finished their cakes quickly after that. They had an appointment at the modiste, and neither of them wanted to be late.

Sherlock looked around apprehensively as they stepped inside. This was not a place he was used to being at all. As the owner, Madame Delacroix, greeted them and invited them into the back to suggest items for Robin’s trousseau, Sherlock leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“What is in a trousseau?”

She laughed. “It’s just a fancy word for a lady’s wardrobe. It’s traditional for a woman to get a collection of new clothing when she marries. Especially some of the, well.” She blushed, then murmured, “Some of the more intimate items a husband might see.”

He blushed along with her. “Oh, I see. Should I, uh, not look?”

“I’m just being measured, Sherlock, and deciding which items I want. Not trying anything on.” She glanced at him. “I don’t plan to get much, anyway. I hardly need new nightdresses, since we’re not going to bed together. I don’t want to spend your money on unnecessary things.”

He glanced back at her and shook his head curtly. “No. My wife will get everything a woman requires in her trousseau,” he decided. “Besides, as you said, we must keep up appearances.”

The comment thrilled her and stung at the same time, but she pushed both feelings aside. This was simply hero worship on her part, she’d realized. He was famous, she idolized him, and he was marrying her. It was bound to be confusing at first, but she knew her place, and she was going to stay firmly in it.

“If you insist, Sherlock,” she finally gave in demurely.

“I do, Robin.”

Madame Delacroix, who had disappeared briefly to grab some samples, returned just then. Sherlock turned to her and smiled. “A full trousseau for my bride, please, Madame Delacroix.”

She grinned happily. “Of course, Mr. Holmes. Miss Ballard, I believe I have your correct measurements from when your aunt bought you a dress several weeks ago, but I would like to verify them.”

Robin nodded, obediently standing on the slightly raised platform on the floor and holding out her arms so Madame Delacroix could measure her.

Sherlock watched, swallowing and slightly adjusting his cravat as he watched the tape wrap around, then underneath, her breasts, and then around her hips, just above her very shapely bottom.

He felt his body reacting to what she had once jokingly called her exquisite form. It was only slightly, but it was something he had never felt before. It was rather pleasurable, really, he found, but he still tried to stop the thoughts.

Feelings weren’t part of their agreement. Besides, he was sure they were temporary. Just a brief infatuation on his part, likely because he had never been close to a woman before.

And, as he was continually reminded, she was extraordinary. It was natural for him to be muddled about everything.

Soon they would both go back to more familiar lives. When that happened and they were merely friends, with no obligation to be quite as close to each other anymore, surely his strange impulses would recede.

“You’ll need chemises,” Madame Delacroix began, “and corsets, at least one of each. One short, one long.”

“Ugh,” Robin muttered. “I hate corsets.”

Madame Delacroix laughed. “Most women do.” The front door opened and she stood. “Excuse me for a moment, yes?”

Robin nodded, staying where she was. Sherlock, who was still taller than her even though she was standing on the dais, bent until his lips were next to her ear.

“Enola says corsets are very good for stopping knives,” he confessed conspiratorially.

Robin’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, I’ll remember that if I’m ever about to get stabbed. Which is hopefully never. Truthfully, I don’t wear corsets at home, even out in the village. I just stitch my dresses in such a way that it gives me more support.”

“I’m sure you’re even more lovely the way you prefer, Robin.”

She rolled her eyes at him affectionately. “Your skill at flattery is improving, Sherlock.”

“It’s easy to flatter you,” he countered. “I just have to tell the truth.”

She shook her head at him, but she was smiling as Madame Delacroix returned.

“Where were we? Oh, yes. You’ll need petticoats, some light for summer, some heavy for winter. I have some lovely flannel for those. And stockings with garters. And then dresses. I’ll have you select some fabrics for both morning and afternoon dresses. Your traveling dresses should be heavier. More flannel, I think, covered in dark green velvet. I recommend two in case of long journeys.”

She produced several swatches pinned to heavy sheets of felt. “These are muslin,” she explained, pointing to one page, “and these are cotton.”

“I have several muslin dresses and they are highly impractical.” Robin gestured to what she was wearing. “I prefer cotton. It’s sturdier, and more easily washed.”

Madame Delacroix laughed. “What are you doing that requires something sturdier, miss?”

Robin’s cheeks colored self-consciously and she glanced down quickly. Sherlock realized that her reaction must have something to do with all of the work she mentioned having to do at her estate. Muslin surely wasn’t the best fabric for that sort of activity, but she’d have to wear something respectable in case someone came to call.

“We are going to be out frequently, Madame Delacroix,” he answered. “As you know, I am a detective, and Miss Ballard is going to be assisting me on cases.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I have many lovely patterns in the cotton. These are my most popular at the moment. Pick as many as you’d like.”

Robin glanced at Sherlock and smiled softly at him in thanks. He nodded and turned his head to study the sheet. “I like this one.”

He pointed to the pattern with darker pink flowers and blueberries on a white background. “So do I,” Robin agreed. “And, um, these.”

He studied the blue and purple flowers with gold accents on a black background and another that looked like peacock flowers fanning out over each other and nodded.

“What about this one?” Madame Delacroix suggested.

Robin immediately shook her head. “No. No red.”

Sherlock chuckled. She had looked beautiful in the red, but it was clear that she didn’t like it, so he was going to defer to her opinion.

“How many more would you like to choose?” Madame Delacroix moved on.

Robin shook her head again. “Surely three dresses is enough,” she protested.

“What about several more in solid colors?” he prodded her. “The light green, this light blue, and…” He pointed to the brown. “That matches your eyes perfectly.”

“Six dresses, Sherlock?” she whispered urgently, trying to dissuade him.

“Yes,” he decided. “Six.”

“Do you require a riding habit, Miss Ballard?” Madame Delacroix asked.

“No. I don’t own any horses.”

Sherlock let that one slide. If she wanted horses later, he could get her some, along with the necessary habit.

“Very well. You’ll need a hooded cloak and two shawls, I think, one that’s heavy cashmere and one that’s light silk. Two spencers and one pelisse should do.”

“What are those?” Sherlock murmured.

“Jackets,” Robin replied as Madame Delacroix whirled around grabbing accessories. “A spencer is short. A pelisse is long.”

She came back to them. “Gloves. A muff. Gray, I think, would be best. Bonnets and hats.”

“No bonnets and hats,” Robin told her. “I can’t stand them.”

Madame Delacroix wrinkled her nose in disapproval, but didn’t argue. “And shoes, of course.”

“Simple and sturdy, please, except for a pair of indoor slippers. Nothing extravagant.”

“And, finally, an evening dress,” she breathed, her eyes sparkling. “I suggest it also be your wedding dress.”

“I hardly need a separate wedding dress,” Robin argued immediately. “That’s just unnecessary.”

“But you will be getting married in London, no? With the whole ton in attendance? You should make a spectacle, my dear. Please, just look at my design. This is a sample, of course. Yours would be made just for you.”

“I…” Robin began again, the words dying on her lips as Madame Delacroix held up a sample gown.

It was made of pristine light pink satin, with an overlay of white muslin threaded through with silver. It was absolutely stunning, even hanging limply in the dressmaker’s arms, and Sherlock knew it would be even more beautiful on Robin.

She was clearly tongue-tied. He knew she was feeling guilty about wanting the dress, but he could see how much she wanted it in her eyes.

And he wanted her to have it. She deserved something beautiful. Even if her marriage wasn’t real, her wedding dress should be.

“We’ll take it,” he informed Madame Delacroix, gently cupping Robin’s elbow in his palm as she looked at him in distress. “I want you to have it,” he said sincerely.

“It’s all too much,” she disagreed, tears suddenly glistening in her eyes.

“It’s not too much, Robin. You only get married once,” he pointed out.

She took a deep breath and composed herself. “I suppose you’re right,” she relented.

Madame Delacroix artfully ignored their private exchange. “I will have it ready for you as soon as I can, Mr. Holmes, Miss Ballard. Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you, Madame Delacroix,” Sherlock bid her farewell, taking Robin’s arm and leading her back outside. “Are you all right?” he asked her quietly.

“You were just… far too generous, Sherlock. I don’t need most of those things.”

“I know.” He didn’t, actually. He was fairly certain she did need most of those things. Getting by didn’t mean she had enough. But he was smart enough not to say that to her. “But I wanted to give them to you. So stop fussing.”

She snorted. “You can’t make me.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Isn’t that my privilege now, since I am soon to be your husband?”

Her head whipped to the side to see if he was serious. When she saw his smirk, she rolled her eyes and he burst out laughing.

“Would you like to know something that might cheer you up, Robin?” he inquired once he was finished laughing.

“What’s that?”

“I do not believe Madame Delacroix is actually French,” he revealed quietly.

Robin giggled. “No, she’s not. Some of us have noticed, but no one cares. She still makes the best dresses in town. Come,” she said haughtily, changing the subject and steering him down the street. “I made an appointment for you too.”

“For me?” he wondered.

“Yes. At the tailor. You need some new suits that aren’t such drab colors.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with my suits?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the ton is all about fashion. You always look like you’re going to a funeral. A little flare in your appearance will make them far more amiable.”

He only contemplated arguing for a moment. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled. “You know the ton better than me.”

“I so enjoy hearing you say that,” she mused, grinning up at him.

He shook his head at her as they entered the tailor’s. Soon he found himself in the same situation she had been in previously, standing on a dais and being measured.

The tailor kept frowning as he wrote down the measurements, though he didn’t say anything beyond mumbling about needing yards of extra material. Robin took over when the time came for fabric selection.

“For the suits, two dark blue. It will bring out your eyes,” she explained. “And to be bold, one dark green and one burgundy. The black, gray, and brown ones you have already are perfectly serviceable. You just need to not wear them as much.”

She studied the next set of patterned fabrics more seriously. “Waistcoats. All silk in front. Two brocade, one silver, one blue. Two damask, one black, one red. And two striped, one gold, one green.”

She turned to him. “Wear the colored vests with your old suits. It will render them suitable.”

He smiled at her. “I will,” he promised. “Thank you.”

After they were finished, he escorted her back to her home, holding her arm the whole way.

“I think you scandalized that tailor,” she joked. “With your broad shoulders and big arms.”

She poked him teasingly and he smiled, blushing deeply. “I stay in shape for my cases. Often, I must lift heavy items out of the way, or fight someone. I like to be prepared.”

“I like it,” she assured him. “You’re quite dashing. Well,” she corrected herself, “when you’re not talking.”

He laughed loudly and shook his head. “I’ll be downright humble by the time we’re married,” he observed.

“Someone should keep you humble,” she retorted, smirking up at him.

They arrived at her door and she turned to face him. “Thank you, Sherlock. I had a positively lovely day.”

“As did I, Robin. I shall see you again tomorrow.”

She nodded, inhaling sharply when he bent and kissed her cheek.

“Your aunt is watching from the front window,” he whispered.

“Oh.”

She knew the gesture had only been for show. Even if her aunt hadn’t been looking, they had to seem as though they meant more to each other than they really did.

She would get used to it over time. All she had to do was let her initial feelings fade, and they would fall into a stability that would likely not be particularly exciting, but would be safe.

She allowed herself one moment, though, once she was inside, to touch her cheek and briefly imagine that he had kissed her because he wanted to, and not because he had to.

Outside, he walked down the street, idly tracing his lips with his finger. He had wanted to kiss her, so he had.

He was dreaming that she had wanted him to kiss her.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Robin continue trying to solve his case together.

The next day, Robin dressed more practically. The cotton frock she’d brought with her was worn, but it was still in good shape, and the yellow flowers decorating it were pretty.

When Sherlock arrived, Robin raised her eyebrow. He was wearing his gray suit with a blue silk vest decorated in an outdated brocade pattern.

“Where’d you get that?” she wondered.

He sighed. “My housekeeper, Mrs. Jones, got several for me years ago. I just never wore them.”

She shook her head. “Well, now you see where ignoring the advice of women gets you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “So now I am relying on the intelligence of another to solve a mystery I have come up short on. See how much I have evolved since then?”

She rolled her eyes and smiled, taking his arm. “Lead the way.”

He escorted her through the London streets to Miss Beverley’s home. “She lives with her father and her aunt,” Sherlock explained on the way. “Her mother died in childbirth three years ago. Apparently, her mother was quite modern, but her aunt is strict and traditional. The family appears to be wealthier than they are, hence their desire for her to marry this season.”

“Not a very surprising story,” Robin observed as he knocked.

They were let inside. Lord Beverley was very pleased to see the world’s greatest detective again. He was, as it turned out, not so pleased to meet his new colleague.

“A woman?” he sneered in open derision. “I don’t possibly see how a woman will help you locate my daughter, Mr. Holmes.”

“Women understand women, sir,” Sherlock replied shortly. “It is likely Miss Ballard will see something the rest of us missed.”

Robin decided to set the tone for their further interactions immediately, before the man became a real problem. “Tell me, sir, what was Miss Beverley’s education?”

“She was educated as any proper girl should be,” he insisted, sounding offended. “She knows how to sing, play the pianoforte, paint, sew, and dance.”

“Very good,” Robin answered blithely. “What about history? Languages? Novels?”

“What use would a girl have for history and languages?” Lord Beverley sputtered.

“And novels are vile,” a woman’s voice intoned from across the room.

“Miss Beverley’s aunt,” Sherlock murmured. “Lady Catherine Norris. Don’t call her anything but Lady Norris.”

Lady Norris’ cane clicked as she walked over to join them. “Cecilia’s mother was fond of novels. Perhaps if she had paid more attention to her duties instead, she would still be with us.”

Robin’s mouth twisted in distaste. Sherlock knew she would have something to say about that particular comment later, but for now, she held her tongue.

“Cecilia was not allowed to read them,” the woman continued.

“Thank you,” Robin told her. “That is useful information. Did she spend most of her time in her room?”

“When she wasn’t sitting with the family, yes.” Lady Norris eyed her coldly, looking her up and down. “A woman is incapable of solving mysteries. And you should not be wandering about with a man who is clearly not your family, Miss Ballard.”

“Mr. Holmes and I are to be married at the end of the season, Lady Norris,” Robin informed her calmly. “I assure you nothing untoward is taking place. May we see Miss Beverley’s room, please?”

“Yes, yes. Anne can take you. Goodness knows she’s not doing anything else these days.” Lord Beverley waved them off. “We’ll be in the study if you require anything. Come, Lady Norris.”

The woman hesitated for a brief second, but then followed after him. A moment later, a servant Robin assumed was Anne appeared. She was clearly nervous and beckoned them to the other side of the house.

Robin moved up to walk beside her, taking her hand and smiling at her reassuringly. “Anne, it is quite all right. We are simply trying to ascertain what happened and find Miss Beverley. You were her lady’s maid, yes?”

Anne stopped and turned to her with wide eyes. “How did you know that, ma’am?” she wondered shakily.

“Well, Lord Beverley indicated that you didn’t have much to do recently, and with Miss Beverley gone, I thought that was the best guess.”

“You are truly a detective, miss,” Anne exclaimed. “Yes, I was Miss Beverley’s maid.”

“Can you tell us anything about what happened, Anne?” Robin asked as they continued walking.

“I’m afraid not, miss. I was already in the servants’ quarters for the evening when Miss Beverley disappeared. I’m sorry.”

“That’s perfectly all right, Anne,” Robin calmed her as they arrived at the room and Anne opened the door.

“It’s the same as you left it after the first time you examined it, Mr. Holmes,” Anne stammered. “Lord Beverley said I wasn’t to change a thing until his daughter is back home.”

“Thank you, Anne,” Sherlock told her, glancing around the room as Robin broke off from them to study the window.

“He did replace the glass on that, miss,” Anne explained. “The shards are in that bowl on the table just in case you need them. I collected the ones from the garden as well.”

“You are very thorough, Anne,” Robin complimented her.

She didn’t think there was anything new to learn from the window. Sherlock’s original theories about that were sound. She turned to the bed where a dress was laid out. There was a long tear in the skirt. Robin eyed the dress and noted that Sherlock had been right. It was very out of fashion and rather worn.

She turned her attention to the drawers. “How well did you search these, Sherlock? I know you told me they had only appeared to be ransacked, but I assume you were thorough?”

He sighed. “As thorough as I could be. I only looked through the drawers Lord Beverley allowed me to look through,” he told her.

“Which means you didn’t look through her underthings,” Robin confirmed. “Which is exactly where a lady would hide something she didn’t want someone else to find.”

Anne gasped as Robin began to pull the contents out of one of the drawers, setting them neatly on top of the dresser as she did. When it was empty, she bent to look inside.

Sherlock tried valiantly to act as though he wasn’t staring at the perfect curve of her substantial bottom in her well-fitted cotton gown.

“The back of this drawer is unusually thick,” Robin observed, bringing him back to the matter at hand.

She reached in and pressed her palm against the wood, smiling triumphantly when there was a click. He heard her slide something to the side. When she stood, she was holding a book.

“ _The Marchioness Mystery_ ,” she revealed. “Hidden in a cleverly concealed compartment at the back of the drawer.”

Sherlock smiled as Anne hung her head. “Miss Beverley loved mysteries. She and her mother used to read them together. After her mother was gone, I got them for her on the days I went to the market. That was her recent favorite. She read it over and over, all the time.”

Robin smiled slightly and nodded. “What else did Miss Beverley and her mother like to do?”

“They were fond of drawing flowers, and Miss Beverley’s mother taught her how to play the pianoforte.”

Robin bent and stared into the drawer, tilting her head to the side curiously. “There’s a flower painted on the back of this drawer where the book was hidden,” she mused. “I wonder…”

There was a small pianoforte in the room, and she moved to it next. She bent to look underneath it and brushed her thumb over the same flower drawn on the wood. She pressed the panel gently and it slid to the side. A sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. She replaced the panel, then picked it up.

“Anne, would you leave us, please?” Sherlock requested. “You’ll be obligated to inform Lord Beverley of anything we find.”

She took his point and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

She turned and hastily disappeared as Robin brought the paper over to him. “What is it?” he asked.

“Plans for running away,” Robin revealed. “Everything in this room is on this sheet. Glass broken. Dress ripped. Drawers ransacked. Money and jewels taken. It then lists the name of a pawnbroker and a popular hotel.”

“So she was going to go to the hotel after pawning the jewels?” Sherlock guessed.

“Do you remember my novel?”

He grinned. “Of course. The missing marchioness left false plans hidden in a secret compartment to throw anyone who found them off the scent. So you think these are false.”

“We should check the pawnbroker and the hotel, of course, just to be sure, but I think so.”

“Do you think there’s anything else here?”

She shook her head. “I doubt it. I’m guessing that anything real would be at the family’s country estate. They would have been there shortly before coming here, and her plan was executed so quickly that she had to have had it all worked out by then.”

“I agree. Thank you, Robin. You found what I could not.”

“Happy to be of use, Sherlock,” she replied.

“Shall we go?”

“I believe we shall.”

She replaced the panel in the drawer and put everything back into it, keeping the novel. “I’d like to look through it and see if there are any additional clues. Marked passages, notes, things like that.”

“An excellent idea,” Sherlock complimented her.

After checking in briefly with Lord Beverley and informing him that they would keep him informed about the progress of the case, they began to walk to the pawn shop listed on Miss Beverley’s plans.

“You didn’t tell him what we found,” she observed quietly.

“No point yet,” Sherlock said casually. “We don’t think it’s a real lead.”

“And?” she prodded, knowing there was more.

He chuckled. “I can’t keep anything from you, can I?”

“Not so far,” Robin agreed.

He sighed. “We don’t know why Miss Beverley ran away. Is it merely that she doesn’t want to be married? Or something more? Her father does not seem particularly kind, and her aunt is quite awful.”

“Indeed. I had no idea novels were connected to death in childbirth.”

He laughed heartily. “I was wondering when you were going to say something about that.”

“You have no idea how badly I wanted to put both of them in their place.”

“You have remarkable restraint.”

“Well, I don’t want to embarrass you, or my aunt. I can hardly go around yelling at every member of the ton.”

“My sister would try,” he admitted.

Robin laughed this time. “Based on what I’ve heard of her, I believe that.” Robin paused. “Will I ever get to meet her?”

“While I would not willingly subject you to my brother, I would happily introduce you to Enola. But she comes and goes as she pleases. She will come to me when she wants to. Hopefully, when she does, you’ll be around. If she hasn’t heard of you already, I’ll make sure to inform her and convince her to meet you.”

“Thank you. I hope you know that she’ll always be welcome at Norland, if she would like to live there, or just stay there for a time.”

“I assumed so, Robin. You’re very kind. And I know that you would never neglect your family, even though we will only be family by arrangement.”

“I wouldn’t,” she confirmed softly.

He slid his fingers through hers, holding not just her arm, but also her hand as they continued to walk.

“I think there are several other pawnbrokers on the way to this one. Perhaps we should check them as well. You know which pieces are missing, yes?”

He nodded. “I have a list with me. That’s a good idea. Let’s go.”

The pawnbroker listed in Miss Beverley’s plans yielded nothing, of course, but two others on the way there did. Sherlock purchased the pieces that matched with the funds Lord Beverley had allocated for the case, though he knew the man would likely complain about having to buy his own jewels back after the fact.

Both owners gave them descriptions matching Miss Beverley, but could tell them nothing about where she had gone after selling, unsurprisingly. She also wasn’t at the hotel, but that was hardly disappointing, since they hadn’t expected to find her anyway.

They returned to the Bridgerton house just in time for tea and joined the family. Robin smiled as Sherlock talked to every person in attendance. He was quite endearing, and she found it very sweet.

When they had both eaten, he withdrew something from inside his jacket and handed it to her. It was a silver case decorated with scrollwork birds.

“What’s this?” she asked, very aware that everyone was watching her with it.

“Just something I thought you would like. Open it.”

She did, holding the case like a book in her hands. When she saw what was inside, she realized that it was a writing kit. There was paper, several quill pens, ink, a pen knife for sharpening the quills, pencils, wax, and a simple seal with an H on it.

“H for Holmes,” she murmured.

“It will be your name soon,” he reminded her.

“It’s perfect for writing letters.” Eloise clapped excitedly. “What a thoughtful gift. This way you can write to us even once you’ve returned to Norland, Robin.”

She nodded. She knew what the kit was really for. It was for her novels, and that made it mean even more to her.

She walked him to the door after everyone had fawned over the gift. “Thank you, Sherlock. Truly.”

He shrugged. “I saw it and thought of you. And gifts are a good way to… keep up appearances, yes?”

She bit her lip. “Yes. Yes, they are. You are being very diligent. I know it must be hard.”

“Not as hard as I thought it would be,” he confessed cryptically.

After a short pause during which neither of them knew what to say, he asked, “May I see you tomorrow?”

She nodded eagerly. “Of course. I believe we’re going to the green to promenade.”

“Ah, your favorite activity,” he teased.

She giggled. “It’s more fun when you’re around.”

“I will most certainly be there, then.”

“I’ll look forward to it, Sherlock.”

He leaned down and kissed her cheek again, taking a deep breath to inhale the scent of her hair.

“As will I, Robin.”

After he left, she clutched the writing kit to her chest. She wanted to use it right away, but she wasn’t quite ready yet. An idea was brewing for her next book, though, and she knew she’d be able to start writing it soon.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Robin both think of the other in a very intimate way as their conflicted feelings grow.

Sherlock and Robin were walking in the park, arms intertwined. She was leaning her head contentedly on his shoulder, and both of them were smiling.

Then Sherlock interrupted their serene stroll by abruptly asking, “Will you seek physical pleasure from me once we’re married?”

Robin stopped in her tracks, blinking rapidly and staring up at him. “What?”

“Will you want us to, um…”

“Stop, stop,” she laughed, shaking her head. “I know what you’re referring to, Sherlock. I’m just surprised you asked.”

“Oh.” His brow furrowed. “Why surprised?”

“Well, I assumed we wouldn’t be, ah, consummating our marriage unless you were eventually required to produce an heir. In that case, some pleasure would be nice, but I won’t request it of you otherwise.”

She was not as ignorant as she knew most women were about sex, pregnancy, and childbirth. She frequently visited her estate’s tenants, including the midwife, and had seen much more than most ladies of her stature were ever supposed to. She had even assisted with a birth once because the midwife had needed someone with delicate hands.

“You sound very certain,” he observed. “Why?”

She glanced at where their arms were touching. “Well, my guess is that most physical contact actually makes you uncomfortable. If what we’ve already done is questionable at best, that seems entirely out of reach.”

He chuckled. “Sometimes I forget how well you know me,” he admitted.

“You’re not hard to read, I hate to inform you,” she teased.

“You’re the only one who thinks that,” he teased back.

“Well, it’s not my fault no one else is paying attention to the signs,” she retorted.

“That is very true, Robin,” he agreed. “Very true indeed.”

****

Later that night, he was alone in his flat with a book. However, he’d hardly read a page of it.

He was supremely distracted by his earlier conversation with Robin. Her insistence that she would never require physical pleasure from him had been so immediate, and that should have relieved him.

But it didn’t. Ever since, he had been consumed by thoughts of what it would be like to touch her that way. To feel all of her smooth skin against his. To have her full curves pressed into him. To taste her. To make her feel… however that sort of contact was supposed to make you feel. To have her look up at him in satisfaction precisely because he had made her feel that way.

Just the thoughts made him experience the strange feelings in his belly that he’d been having ever since he met her. Only now he found it traveling lower, making him react in ways he never had before.

He groaned, tossing his book aside and shifting uncomfortably. He’d taken off his boots, jacket, vest, and cravat a long time ago, but now he undid his breeches and tugged his shirt loose, desiring the relief of freeing his body further.

Every time he thought he’d finally gotten himself under control, something else occurred to him. It ranged from as simple as wondering what sounds she would make if he touched her in certain ways to as complicated as having the exquisite pleasure of unlacing all of the ridiculous undergarments she was required to wear until he could finally release her breasts and hold them in his hands.

He covered his face with those hands now. She did not want that from him. She’d made it very clear today.

And he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it from her either. He’d never had the smallest inkling of desire before meeting her. Never thought about touching someone else in that manner. Never thought about someone touching him in that manner.

It wasn’t that he was ignorant. He knew how it was done, as much as someone who hadn’t done it himself could. But the knowledge existing in his head and him actually wanting to make use of it were, as it turned out, two very different things.

He could not ask her. Even engaged, it was hardly appropriate. But even after they were married, he couldn’t ask it of her. Not when it would merely be to indulge his curiosity.

Especially when he couldn’t dismiss the idea that indulging that curiosity might further confuse his feelings for her.

There was a middle ground, he reasoned. He could always indulge his curiosity with himself. Though there also seemed to be considerable risk in doing that and imagining what she might do to him.

Still, he suddenly realized that he didn’t have much choice. His need had been insistent before, but now it was almost painful.

So he reached down and wrapped a hand around himself, trying to be gentle. She would be gentle with him, he knew. Her touch would be sweet and soft, and absolutely irresistible.

He bit his lip as he started to move his hand, experimenting with both pace and pressure. When he finally seemed to get it right, he sighed.

She would do that. Experiment until she found just the right way to touch him. The way that gave him the most pleasure.

Thinking about her hand on him was intriguing, but he found himself wanting more. Laying on his back and pumping himself rhythmically like this seemed so… clinical.

He was usually fond of being clinical, and it bothered him that he wasn’t in this case, as so many things had bothered him since he’d met Robin.

He thought of her being closer, all of her clothing removed, hovering over him, asking him to touch her, begging him for more now that they’d begun to explore each other.

He tried to imagine her on top of him during the act, but couldn’t quite picture it. He found it much easier to see her underneath him, safely encased in the cage of his arms, her hands roaming over him, her legs parting for him.

He rolled over on his couch, bracing himself on his knees and one elbow. He didn’t even know if he would be capable of doing anything if they were really together this way, but his mind was more than up to the task, apparently, as he imagined sliding inside her.

He held his hand still, moving his hips instead, thrusting into his hand, trying not to be too fast or rough. He couldn’t be too fast or rough if he was really with her, or he’d hurt her. Even though she was bigger and hardier than most women, he was still a large, strong man.

He lowered his head and sunk his fingers into his hair, gasping harshly. He could see her perfectly in his mind’s eye. Her mussed hair, her flushed cheeks, her arched neck, her heaving breasts.

He came undone, his body tensing. Relief washed through him in a wave, but it was only temporary.

Rather than satisfying his curiosity, his little diversion had only made him want her more.

****

At the same time, Robin laid in her own bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating what Sherlock had asked her earlier that day.

She didn’t know if he’d inquired about physical pleasure because he wanted it or because he didn’t, but either way, it was all she could think about.

He was certainly a very attractive man. She’d never desired sex before, but it was easy to imagine falling into his arms and never wanting to leave.

If he asked her directly, she knew she would say yes. The problem was that she wasn’t sure if she could stop all of her growing feelings from pouring out if he were to touch her like that. If she was trapped in his embrace, pinned underneath him, smelling him, she wouldn’t be able to resist admitting that she frequently found herself wanting them to be more than just friends.

She bit her lip and raised her hands, gently pressing her palms down over her breasts in a futile attempt to make her nipples less hard.

But then she imagined him caressing them with his thumbs, tugging her bodice down to bare them to him, even leaning down to take one into his mouth.

They grew harder, and suddenly she was the one tugging her bodice down, circling them, twisting them, wondering how it would feel if his much stronger fingers were completing the task.

Without thinking about it, she hiked her skirt up and slid one hand down between her legs, continuing to knead her breast with the other.

She’d done this before, sometimes rather frequently. The first time, she’d been curious, and it had felt good, so she’d continued after that.

But she’d never thought about a specific person before while doing it. She had never really considered having a partner at all. If anything, she had assumed that if she ever did get married, sex would be rote and unenjoyable, with pleasure entirely out of reach.

She had purposefully avoided the act since arriving in London and meeting Sherlock. It seemed dangerous to cultivate her growing feelings for him. He was never going to feel the same way about her. His questions about pleasure were merely a part of his investigative nature, and the touches, the gifts, the lovely words, were all just part of their ruse.

She could not allow herself to believe that there was anything more to it than that. It would only make her disappointment that much more acute when the season ended and they parted ways. Whether his absence was physical or just emotional, depending on where he ended up living, it would come, and she had to be prepared for that.

But just for tonight, she would allow herself the fantasy, if only to get it out of her head.

It was easy to conjure what she wanted. She had a vivid imagination, after all. It was one of the reasons she wrote so well.

He was on top of her, holding her down with the weight of his body. She clung to his shoulders as she spread her legs wide for him, his powerful thighs pressing against hers as they kissed.

She pinched her nipple as she pictured his head moving down her neck to her breast, wondering how it would feel to run her fingers through his curls.

Her fingers moved between her legs, brushing over her most sensitive spot before gliding lower. She bit her lip and swallowed a moan as she pushed two inside her, imagining feeling him there instead.

She had only a vague understanding of male anatomy, but she knew that men could have vastly different sizes. She had heard a few varying opinions on what was better, larger or smaller. She didn’t have one of her own, of course.

She just wondered what his was like. Her fingers never seemed like enough, but she thought that he might fill her up. Fill a void inside her that had never been touched before.

She rolled her hips, thrusting her fingers in and out. As her pleasure crested, she realized the mistake she’d made.

Doing this hadn’t gotten him out of her head at all. Because when all was said and done, the void inside her was much more than just physical.

She rolled over quickly, muffling her sob in her pillow.

Her whole life, she had tamped down her emotions for the sake of everyone else. Now she was finally feeling something that was purely and truly for herself.

It was wonderful. It was glorious.

And it was absolutely hopeless.

She was in love with a man who was never going to love her back. She was going to marry him, and he was going to be good to her, but they would always be at arm’s length from each other.

She finally wanted something, and it was the one thing she couldn’t have.

She stayed in bed until her crying subsided, then sat up and blotted at her eyes with a handkerchief.

She couldn’t back out of their arrangement now. They would be married. And it really wouldn’t be that bad, she knew. He was a kind man, a smart one, and willing to give her her freedom, which was more than she’d ever get from any other husband.

It would be a good life. So she would do something with these feelings to make certain that they would never be an issue.

She glanced at her writing desk. The kit Sherlock had given her was sitting on top of it, waiting to be used. And now she knew exactly what to use it for.

She got up, lit a candle, and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, meticulously sharpening her quill and then dipping it in the ink.

She would do what she always did with feelings she couldn’t speak to anyone else. She’d put them in a story. That way, everyone would think they were fiction, simply a result of her extraordinarily creative mind.

She always wrote an outline before starting a new novel. She wanted to know where she was going before she started setting any words to paper.

She had been waiting for a new idea to become clear in her mind, and now it was.

Her intrepid female detective would face scandal when the villain copied a previous mystery she had solved in an attempt to frame her. A new character, a very handsome male detective, would be called in to prove her guilt or innocence.

As they worked together, they would slowly begin to fall in love.

She would live a good, practical life here in reality.

In fiction, she’d have everything she wanted. She’d be free, and she’d be in love.

And he’d love her back.

In the pages she’d create, they would be together forever, and nothing would ever come between them.

Least of all themselves.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin goes to watch Sherlock box. Her reaction is unexpected.

Sherlock awoke the next morning more confused than ever. He quickly dressed and decided to walk to the boxing club. He needed to release some tension and hopefully banish these thoughts from his head.

But she was all he could think about.

He knew now that Robin was everything he could ever possibly want in a woman. She was smart, a wonderful author, and more observant regarding him than anyone he’d ever known. She was sweet, humble, kind, and so beautiful.

He’d never thought he would want anyone. He had certainly never thought he would want a wife. But he wanted her, and he could no longer deny it.

He wanted a real marriage with her. But he feared that if he asked for one, she would resent him forever. She didn’t desire him that way, and he didn’t want her to hate him for changing the terms of their arrangement when it was entirely impossible for her to back out of it.

The simple fact was that he was stuck. He had to marry her, or she’d be disgraced forever, and he would not allow that to happen. But he couldn’t tell her the truth, either, because he wasn’t willing to make her unhappy for the rest of her life.

He had made his own bed, and now he would have to lie in it. Sadly, as much as he wanted it to, that bed had no place for his wife.

****

Robin reclined in the sitting room at the Bridgerton house, turning the feathers she’d purchased for her hair at the market over and over in her fingers. Her mind was racing like it often did once she’d begun a new novel. She wished she could just lock herself in her room and write, but even here, where she had very few responsibilities, that wasn’t really a possibility. Not if she didn’t want to be discovered.

She thought about going to see Sherlock, but she both did and didn’t want to. She was afraid that if she did, she might just tell him everything that she was thinking, and that would make their impending marriage very awkward.

He was going to be her husband. There was no doubt about that. Neither of them could back out now without risking serious disgrace, and she knew that he wouldn’t do that to her. He was too good.

Ironically, she had chosen a man who was perfect for her. He was wildly intelligent, a famous detective willing to let her work cases with him, and shockingly supportive of her wants and needs. He was remarkably thoughtful, open-minded, forward-thinking, and ever so handsome.

She couldn’t have chosen better if she’d been trying to fall in love. She’d never expected to fall in love. But she had.

She wanted him to truly be her husband. Even if he never wanted physical affection from her. She could live with that. She wasn’t going to force him to do anything he didn’t want to. Including have children. If he somehow miraculously wanted sex and no children, they could take precautions.

But she couldn’t ask him for it. If she did it now, he might assume that she had been planning it all along, that she had trapped him into marriage only to try and demand more from him than he had ever intended to give.

They would be together for the rest of their lives. Maybe they’d live together, like she’d offered. Maybe they wouldn’t. But she could never confess her true feelings to him.

She’d had the fleeting thought before, and now she knew. It was awful to be marrying a man she had feelings for who would never feel the same way about her. But there was nothing she could do about it.

She sighed heavily as Anthony and Daphne entered the room. They were dressed to go out.

“Where are you two headed?” she asked, just to have something else to think about.

“The boxing club,” Anthony announced.

Robin sat up and bit her lip. Sherlock was a frequent boxer, she knew, and he might be there.

She had to see him again sometime. Maybe doing so in public would help calm her urges and bring back some semblance of control.

“May I accompany you?” she wondered, standing up.

Anthony nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll be ready shortly.”

She ran up the stairs to her room to make sure she was attired appropriately. She was nervous, but the only way to know if she could manage herself around Sherlock from now on was to test it.

****

When Robin arrived at the boxing club, she was surprised to be handed a flier advertising an exhibition match between one of the fighters and Sherlock Holmes. It wasn’t printed, just written, so she knew this had to be a recent development.

She could tell that the fight had already started, based on the noise. She pushed through the crowd as delicately as she could to get to the side of the ring.

Sure enough, Sherlock was there, moving far more quickly than a man of his size should be able to, throwing strategic punches.

But that wasn’t what made her stop in her tracks and swallow thickly. What made her do that was the fact that he was completely shirtless and glistening with sweat, his damp curls falling over his forehead.

Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Her corset was too tight, and her vision became blurry. She gasped as Sherlock’s opponent hit him in the face, then felt herself tilting toward the floor.

She never reached it. Sherlock had been hit because he’d caught sight of her at his side. When he saw her start to fall, he vaulted over the edge of the ring and caught her, gently lifting her into his arms and taking her into the back room where he’d left his clothes.

She was already coming to when he set her down gently. She blinked rapidly and looked up at him, her cheeks turning bright red.

“Did I faint?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She shut her eyes and shook her head. “I have never fainted in my life,” she murmured. “Oh, you must think that I’m the most ridiculous woman you’ve ever met.”

Sherlock laughed. “Hardly, Robin. I assume I startled you by getting hit in the face.”

She could hardly admit the real reason she’d been startled. “I didn’t know you’d be fighting,” she agreed.

It wasn’t a lie, technically. But it wasn’t exactly the truth, either.

“I apologize. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“I hadn’t planned on it. But when Anthony and Daphne said they were coming, I thought you might be here, so I accompanied them.”

“Did you need to talk to me?” he inquired softly.

“I…”

She scrambled for something to say. Her thoughts were far too muddled at the moment for her liking. She didn’t want to blurt out the truth accidentally.

She focused on his face and noticed that his lip was bleeding. She glanced down at his hands and saw that his knuckles were too.

“You’re hurt,” she blurted out.

He chuckled. “Barely. It happens when you box.”

“Still. You should let me take care of you.”

Her eyes nervously roamed over his impressively muscled arms. She wished she could loosen her corset, or take it off entirely, but that was entirely out of the question here.

She forced her gaze away from his body to look around the room. There were first aid supplies on a small table nearby, and she stood to get them.

When she swayed lightly on her feet, he reached out and steadied her. “Be careful, Robin. You might not be entirely well yet. And I’m sure your corset is too tight.”

She laughed lightly. “Well, that can’t be helped at the moment.”

Briefly, he imagined reaching for her, unlacing her corset, and taking her breasts into his hands right here in this tiny room. He shook his head to remove the thought, his curls falling into his eye as he did.

She reached up to brush them out of his face. “Sherlock?”

He smiled at her reassuringly. “Forgive me. I was trying to think of a solution to your problem, but I’m afraid I don’t have one.”

“You can’t solve every problem with that superior brain of yours, though I do appreciate you trying,” she teased him breathlessly.

He flushed slightly at the compliment. “Let me get what you need and I will allow you to tend to me. Stay seated.”

He stood and gathered her supplies, then sat back down as promised. She took his hand and gently began to clean the blood from his knuckles with a rag damp with alcohol.

She reached up to dab at his mouth next, then a small trickle of blood coming from his forehead. The motion pushed her breasts up and his eyes fell to them again. They were so perfect, big and round, and they looked incredibly soft.

“Why do you box?”

The question startled him out of his own head, which he was thankful for. As she made sure he wasn’t going to start bleeding again, he quietly answered, “It helps me, ah, vent my excess energy, if you will. Empties my mind so I can think.” He licked his lips, his skin tingling wherever her gentle fingers brushed over it. “Do you ever find that your brain is so full that you can’t make sense of anything in it?”

She laughed softly. “Frequently.” She tilted her head to the side curiously. “What are you thinking right now?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “I’m thinking that while I don’t usually like to be touched, I find your touch very soothing.”

The color in his cheeks increased as he realized what he’d said. He looked at her worriedly, but was pleased to see her cheeks pink up too.

“Well, I’m glad that you can accept my touch, especially when you need to be patched up like this.”

He nodded. “Indeed.”

She finished, but she kept his hand in hers for a moment longer. When it started to tremble with the effort of holding himself back, he pulled it free.

“Let me walk you home so you can rest, Robin.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” she agreed, far too overcome to argue.

He quickly dressed to take her home. When they arrived, they both stood in the foyer of the Bridgerton house, staring at each other.

He wanted nothing more than to take her upstairs, carefully undress her, and lay beside her. He wanted to explore her body until he knew every dip and curve of it.

It pained him that even when they were married and it was entirely appropriate, he wouldn’t be able to.

“I’ll return this evening to escort you to the Trowbridge ball, Robin, provided you feel well enough.”

“I will, Sherlock,” she promised.

She lingered at the door, watching him go, wondering if she would ever feel anything but uneasy around him ever again.

****

Sherlock walked home slowly, trying to calm himself. Usually, he was good at controlling his feelings. He wanted to be able to put these in a box, push them to the back of his mind, and forget they ever existed.

Then again, maybe he’d been so good at controlling his feelings before because he’d never really had any.

At home, he took off his clothes and cleaned himself up, laying out what he was going to wear that night. Then he sat with a sheet of paper and his drawing pencils.

He began to sketch Robin from memory, tending to his wounds the way she had earlier.

He no longer had any illusions about the act banishing her image from his mind, but she certainly made for a stunning picture.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Robin’s investigation continues. Sherlock gives Robin something that confuses her further.

Sherlock returned to Robin’s home later that evening, his finished sketch tucked safely into the inside of his jacket. When he stepped into the foyer, he saw Robin standing there waiting for him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, staring at her openly.

She was wearing the dress she’d worn the night they met, white muslin embroidered with lavender flowers. She had two beautiful white feathers in her hair this time, and she looked absolutely ravishing.

“Much better, thank you, Sherlock,” she assured him, looking him over. “You got your new clothes from the tailor.”

He nodded. “I did. Do you approve?”

He’d selected one of the dark blue suits and the silver brocade vest. He felt entirely ostentatious, but he could tell from the way she was looking at him that he had chosen well.

“I do. You look positively dashing, Sherlock.”

He blushed and hung his head. “Did you, um, receive your trousseau yet?” he wondered.

“Everything except my wedding dress, yes. That will take a little longer to make.”

“Of course. I… can’t wait to see you in it,” he said quietly.

That comment hung in the air between them for a moment. Then she broke the silence.

“I’ve made some vague inquiries amongst the ton, and I believe I know who Miss Beverley’s confidante is.”

“Oh?”

He took her arm to lead her to the carriage as she explained. “Miss Cressida Cowper. She’s a ridiculous woman, one of the worst when it comes to trying to worm her way into a man’s heart. She was courting that prince who liked Daphne. Thinks she stole him from her, which is delusional, but I can use it to my advantage. I told Daphne about my plan earlier, just in case she overhears. She approved.”

“Ah,” he realized. “You’re going to speak poorly of Daphne to get into Miss Cowper’s good graces.”

“Exactly. I’m sure it won’t be a fun conversation for me, but hopefully I can get what we need.”

“I have immense faith in you, Robin.”

“I hope it’s not misplaced, Sherlock.”

“It’s not, Robin,” he assured her.

“It also means that you will need to dance with Daphne,” she informed him slowly, biting her lip as she looked up at him.

He grimaced. “Hm. To convince Miss Cowper that you are jealous of her, I assume.”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I know you don’t like dancing. But it’s the easiest way. You’ll be the center of attention, thanks to your fame and Daphne’s current status. Everyone will notice you, especially Cressida, since she’s so intently focused on Daphne right now.”

“I like dancing with you,” he corrected her as he helped her into the carriage and climbed up beside her. “But your cousin is tolerable, I suppose,” he teased. “I can dance with her if it helps our case.”

“She’s excited to assist,” Robin told him. “I’m sure it won’t be too bad.”

“As long as I end the night dancing with you, I’ll be satisfied.”

“My dance card is only for you, Sherlock.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, making her sigh softly. Violet entered the carriage and sat across from them, smiling as she observed.

****

Sherlock made good on Robin’s plan and requested Daphne’s first two dances. Daphne agreed and Robin drifted to the refreshments table, which was where Cressida usually spent most dances lately, since being shunned by the prince.

Though she didn’t usually drink, Robin made sure to have a glass of sherry in her hand so it seemed like she was. Cressida usually had a few too many drinks at events like this, and Robin wanted to take advantage of that in the hope that it would loosen her tongue.

Sure enough, the first dance wasn’t even halfway over before Cressida joined Robin, standing right next to her. Robin let out a well-timed heavy sigh, her eyes following Sherlock and Daphne as they moved across the floor.

It pleased her greatly that they simply looked wrong together. She loved her cousin, but she was supremely glad not to have her as competition. Sherlock was doing his best to smile as he engaged Daphne in conversation. Hopefully Cressida wouldn’t notice that his enjoyment was feigned.

It was easy for Robin to tell her, but he had told her that she could read him better than anyone, so she was counting on that.

Cressida engaged with Robin’s sigh, much to her relief. “Is that Sherlock Holmes dancing with Daphne? Isn’t he engaged to you?”

“Yes,” Robin muttered, taking a small sip of her sherry.

“I suppose he couldn’t resist the chance to dance with your perfect cousin,” Cressida sneered, downing her glass of sherry in one gulp and then grabbing another.

“I’m lucky I had any suitors at all,” Robin agreed. “Imagine trying to find a man in my situation when they all come in and see Daphne first.”

She made sure not to lay it on too thick. Cressida, like the rest of the ton, was very aware of Robin’s age and financial situation. She was never going to have a bevy of suitors, so she couldn’t act like she had.

“Maybe running away was the right idea,” Cressida muttered under her breath, coming to the point much faster than Robin had expected.

“Running away?” Robin questioned idly, trying to pretend a certain level of disinterest.

Cressida’s eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. “Nothing,” she stammered quickly, trying to move away.

But Robin slid her arm through Cressida’s and steered her toward some pillars at the back of the room.

“What are you doing?” the woman protested. “Let me go!”

“Stop causing a scene, Cressida, or people will look,” Robin cautioned her. “I just want to know where Cecilia is. Her family is looking for her.”

The woman rolled her eyes and calmed down, always highly aware of her social profile. “I should have remembered that your detective is the one searching for her. You set me up grandly, didn’t you?”

“You’re not as daft as you want people to think you are, clearly,” Robin countered, shoving down the happiness she felt at Sherlock being called her detective.

“And you’re much less daft than I am,” Cressida retorted, “so you should know very well that her family is only looking for her because of what a good marriage for her can do for them. Granted, if I had the prospects she does, I don’t think I would have considered her plan, but my opinion has nothing to do with it.”

Despite Cecilia’s family needing a new infusion of wealth, they were not so poor yet that she was undesirable. At least Cressida was telling her the truth, even if she wasn’t giving Robin exactly the information she wanted.

“Please, Cressida. Her family aside, surviving alone in London is not as simple as Cecilia might have thought, especially for a lady like herself. She could be in danger.”

“She’s fine,” Cressida insisted. “Her plan was a good one. She even burned all the evidence of it, so don’t expect to find any.”

“I see. Well, I’m not going to thank you, because you haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Robin let the woman’s arm go. Cressida huffed and stalked out of the room and onto the terrace overlooking the garden, clearly wanting to get away.

Robin made her way to the edge of the dance floor. Sherlock had finished his two dances with Daphne and was waiting for her.

He took her hand and they danced automatically as they talked.

“What did you discover?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. Miss Cowper refused to tell me where Miss Beverley might be, but she certainly knows, assuming that the girl actually shared her real plans. She did tell me that Miss Beverley burned all of the evidence, which still makes her country estate the most likely place we might find something concrete.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t get more.”

Sherlock shrugged. “That’s hardly your fault. You can’t make her talk if she doesn’t want to. She was determined not to betray her friend, so she wouldn’t have for any reason. I still think your reasoning is good. We must go to her country estate next.”

“Unless you want to simply randomly wander the streets of London looking for her, I agree,” Robin admitted.

She still felt dull and unskilled, considering the result of her interrogation. She was sure Sherlock would have done better.

“Please don’t let it weigh heavily upon you, Robin,” he implored her. “You did well.”

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “Most of the time I feel quite inadequate. Especially so when I’m next to you.”

He was more intelligent, more skilled, and more beautiful than she would ever be. Her rank might have been higher than his, but she couldn’t help feeling like he was marrying down.

The orchestra paused before the next dance. Impulsively, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a folded up piece of paper, then pressed it into her hand.

“This is how I see you, Robin. You are extraordinary. Don’t ever forget it.”

****

She didn’t have a chance to look at what he’d given her until later that night when she was getting ready for bed.

She unfolded it carefully, smoothing it out on her desk. When she saw what it was, she stared at it curiously.

It was a drawing of her as she’d tended to him at the boxing club earlier that day. The detail was exquisite. He’d perfectly captured the look on her face, which was a mixture of care, longing, and worry.

She hoped he hadn’t divined why her face held all of those emotions, if he’d even recognized them at all.

He made her seem pretty and poised, though she was sure that was hardly the case.

What she didn’t understand was why he had given her the drawing. No one else had seen it, so it could hardly be a part of their ruse. It was personal and intimate, and therefore confusing.

She almost left it in her writing kit, but decided at the last minute to take it to bed with her. As she laid down, she folded it back up and slid it under her pillow, keeping her fingers wrapped around it as she attempted to fall asleep.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon’s heartfelt speech to the queen prompts two unplanned confessions.

The next several days were a whirlwind Robin hadn’t expected. Suddenly, Daphne was marrying Simon, the Duke of Hastings. Robin was completely caught up in helping with the preparations, and was entirely surprised when Sherlock arrived one morning as they were readying themselves for a visit to the palace.

She stopped short at the sight of him. He had been quite gone from her mind because she’d been so busy. She’d been thankful for the discovery, truthfully. If she kept herself occupied enough, she didn’t have to hurt all the time due to the lack of his affection.

“What are you doing here?” she wondered.

His face fell slightly and her brow furrowed. “Are you not happy to see me?” he asked hesitantly.

He looked so unexpectedly vulnerable, and she suddenly felt bad. Especially since he had clearly dressed with her in mind. He was wearing his dark green suit and gold striped vest, and had ended up accidentally matching with her, since she had put on her spring green muslin with gold accessories from the dress she had worn the first time she went to the palace.

“That’s not what I meant at all,” she assured him, stepping forward to take his hands in hers. She rubbed her thumbs gently against his skin, hoping to soothe him. “I just had no idea you were coming. I’m afraid we’re about to leave ourselves.”

“For the palace, yes. Your aunt asked me to accompany you.”

“Did she? I didn’t know.”

“Because I forgot to tell you,” Violet sighed, hurrying into the room. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, Aunt Violet. You’ve planned this wedding in record time.”

“And, as you know, it will not happen if this appeal to the queen today doesn’t succeed,” she huffed. “That’s why I asked Mr. Holmes here. I thought the presence of another couple sincerely in love, but without scandal, might entice her to respond favorably.”

Robin merely nodded as Violet went upstairs to check on Daphne. Sherlock glanced at her, clearly confused. Robin laughed and led him to the sitting room, where she sank down on the couch. “Let me explain,” she offered.

“You look tired,” he observed, tucking an errant curl behind her ear as he sat beside her, more concerned about her health than what was going on.

“A little, but I’ll be fine.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t imagine you were paying too much attention to them, but Daphne and Simon were… fooling everyone.”

“Fooling everyone?” he repeated curiously.

“Not too loud. Aunt Violet doesn’t know. The same way that she doesn’t know about us.”

“Ah. They had… an arrangement?”

“I believe so. I don’t know for sure. It’s just a guess based on observation. I think that after Anthony and Lady Whistledown severely compromised Daphne’s chances to choose her own suitor, she and Simon made a deal. He always bragged about never marrying, so I imagine that his interest in her was feigned to raise her social profile and make other men interested in her again.”

“But now they are marrying? Why?”

“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Robin whispered.

“How could it possibly be your fault, Robin?”

“Apparently, they were alone in the garden together at the Trowbridge ball. Miss Cowper saw them when she retreated to the balcony after I questioned her about Miss Beverley. I’m just piecing together what I’ve overhead the past few days, though. I might be mistaken.”

“Whether you are or not, you didn’t know they were in the garden, nor did you make them go there. You’re not to blame.”

He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her forehead tenderly. She blushed and smiled, raising her hand and resting it on his forearm.

He licked his lips thoughtfully. “Why would they compromise themselves in such a way if they never intended to be married?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps they truly fell in love. Daphne turned down a prince who seemed perfect for her, after all. It’s the only conclusion I can come to that makes sense.”

“It seems reasonable,” he agreed. “I assume that the visit to the queen is because she is blocking their special license?”

He knew that a couple couldn’t get married that quickly without a special license, so it was easy to guess that they had wanted things expedited. If they had really been caught and reputations were at stake, a quick union was crucial.

“Yes. The prince was her nephew, so she’s not happy that Daphne turned him down.”

His hand was still on her neck. He was close to her. She could feel his heat, and smell him. She breathed in, allowing herself to be lost in the scent.

“How do you think that happens?” he murmured. “How do two people fall in love when they never intend to?”

He knew she wouldn’t have an answer, but he wished with all of his heart that she did. If she could only tell him how, he could make her love him.

He hadn’t let himself think the word before. It was so foreign to him. But he knew that was what this was. He loved her, and he wanted her to love him back so they could be happy together forever.

“I don’t suppose they planned it,” she mused softly. “Maybe they thought they were safe from each other, and then they realized that they were meant to be all along.”

Her words lingered between them for one long moment. Then Violet and Daphne came down the stairs, the carriage clattered up to the front door, and it was time for them all to leave.

****

They both remained lost in their thoughts until they arrived at the palace. Thankfully, neither of them had much to do beyond watch and hope that things worked out for Daphne and Simon.

At first, it didn’t look like they were going to. The queen was resolutely unmoved, and clearly still stung by Daphne’s rejection of the prince.

Daphne was trying valiantly to make an appeal, but it was Simon who finally managed it.

“It was not, Your Majesty,” he broke in when Daphne tried to claim their meeting had been love at first sight. “The young lady flatters me, but it was not love at first sight for either of us. There was attraction, certainly, at least on my part. But Miss Bridgerton thought me presumptuous, arrogant, insincere. All fair, really.”

Sherlock smiled slightly and glanced at Robin, who was also smiling. It was much like their first meeting.

“And I thought her a prim young lady barely out of leading strings,” he continued. “Not to mention the sister of my best friend, and so romance was entirely out of the question for both of us. But in so removing it, we found something far greater.”

Robin tilted her head curiously. She had no idea what Simon could mean.

“We found friendship,” he revealed. “You see, Miss Bridgerton and I have been fooling all of Mayfair for some time.”

Robin inhaled sharply and grabbed Sherlock’s arm. He rested his hand over hers, his heart beating rapidly.

She had been right. They had fallen in love when they had never intended to. So it was possible.

“We have fooled them into thinking we are courting,” Simon explained. “When really, all along, we simply enjoyed each other’s company so much we could not stay away from one another. I have never been a man that much enjoyed flirting, or chatting, or, indeed, talking at all. But with Daphne… Miss Bridgerton… conversation has always been easy. Her laughter brings me joy.”

“To meet a beautiful woman is one thing,” Simon finished, “but to meet your best friend in the most beautiful of women is something entirely apart. And it is with my sincerest apologies, I must say it took the prince coming along for me to realize I did not want Miss Bridgerton to only be my friend. I wanted her to be my wife. I want her to be my wife. And so I plead with you not to make us wait.”

Robin’s eyes filled with tears at his words. She would have given anything to hear Sherlock say the same about her.

The queen approved. “You are wise,” she informed them, “or perhaps unusually lucky, to understand friendship to be the best possible foundation a marriage can have. Even if that foundation should crumble as quickly as it was built.”

Suddenly, Robin couldn’t breathe again. But she held it together, because she wasn’t going to faint in front of the queen for anything in the world.

She felt sympathy for her monarch. She had everything anyone could want, except the one thing she truly desired. Her husband well and whole.

If something that were to happen to Sherlock and she had never told him how she truly felt, Robin knew she would never forgive herself.

Besides, it was entirely unfair to keep her feelings to herself. Sherlock deserved to know, if only so there were truly no secrets between them.

If there was even the remotest possibility that their friendship had turned into love on his part, she had to give him the chance to say it. Maybe he was already trying, but was just too afraid, likely for the same reasons she was.

He noticed her breath hitch several times in a row, so he squeezed her arm tighter and put his hand on the small of her back to keep her steady.

He didn’t know what she was thinking, but he hoped against hope that it was the same thing as him.

The queen was right. Robin had quickly become his best friend, and now she was much more. There was no better way to fall in love.

It was inevitable now. He couldn’t keep his feelings to himself any longer. He needed to tell her the truth, or the intensity of them would rip him apart.

If she didn’t love him, perhaps she would at least forgive him.

He looked at her and frowned when he saw how pale she was. The queen had just invited them all to tea, but he needed some time alone with Robin to set things right.

“I respectfully request permission to take Miss Ballard out on the grounds, Your Majesty,” Sherlock interrupted. “I believe she needs some air.”

Violet immediately began fussing. “Oh, my dear, you do look rather peaked.”

“I’ll be fine, Aunt Violet,” Robin reassured her breathlessly, her head spinning with the need to unburden herself.

“Her man will take excellent care of her,” the queen agreed. “The gardens are quite lovely. I suggest taking her there.”

He bowed slightly. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Robin let Sherlock steer her outside in a daze. He led her to the gardens the queen had mentioned, finding a spot shielded from prying eyes by beautiful rose hedges.

“Are you well, Robin?” he asked worriedly.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’ll be fine. But I have something I must tell you.”

“As do I. Normally, I would defer to you, but I must insist on going first this time.”

She blinked and nodded. “Very well.”

He took a deep breath and reached for her hands, clasping them in his tightly, as if he could hold her there if his words frightened her.

“I do not wish you to think that I intended to change the terms of our arrangement after we made it, especially once it was far too late for you to reconsider,” he began.

She swore that her heart skipped a beat as she waited to hear the rest of what he had to say.

“I shall simply speak frankly so I get to the point,” he decided, his voice quavering as he spoke. “I… I love you, Robin.”

Finally, her lungs seemed to fill entirely with air, and before he could say more, she answered him just as simply.

“I love you, Sherlock,” she breathed.

His relief was immediate. “I thought you would be terribly cross with me if I told you,” he admitted.

She laughed loudly and squeezed his hands even tighter. “I thought you would think I’d been trying to manipulate you from the beginning. That I had intended to trap you with a false bargain and then confess my feelings once your backing out would be entirely dishonorable.”

“I know you would never do such a thing.”

“And I know you wouldn’t either.”

They both paused and then he chuckled. “There is so much more to say, I feel. But I can’t think of any of it at the moment.”

She giggled. “Nor I. I’m a writer with no words. What irony.”

He moved his hands so his palms were cupping her neck, pressing his thumbs against her jaw to tilt her face up until she was gazing at him fully. “Perhaps that means discussion is meant for another time,” he whispered. “Right now, I would very much like to kiss you, if you will permit me.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

She clasped his sides as he moved closer, bending until their lips touched.

He had never kissed a woman before, of course. For a moment, just the touch of hers against his was enough. Then it wasn’t, but he found himself pulling back to gauge her reaction before he continued.

Even a man as inexperienced as himself could read her desire. Her skin was flushed, her pupils were blown, and her lips were parted as if to invite him back.

So he accepted the invitation and kissed her again. This time, he moved his lips against hers, he hoped in a pleasing way.

Her fingers tightened on his sides and she moved her lips back encouragingly.

Then he was overcome by his own yearning for her, which washed away his nerves entirely.

He kissed her again, opening his mouth against hers, and shocked even himself when his tongue curled out to meet hers during the next kiss.

She gasped at the sweet entrance, then moved her hands to his head so her fingers could sink into his thick, dark curls.

His body surged forward ardently, craving her against him as he kissed her over and over, their tongues meeting again and again as they tasted each other.

She was soft everywhere. Soft lips. Soft breasts pressed upon his chest. Soft hair that brushed his cheek as it fell free from her gold ribbons. Even her arms were soft as he slid his hands down them to hold her in place, though she clearly had no intention of pulling away.

He could have kissed her forever. He would have been content to let the world crumble to dust around them as time passed.

Because she loved him, and he knew now that as long as he had her, he would always be content.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Robin reminisce about the history of their relationship.

Somehow they had managed to pull themselves away from each other and return to tea. They’d both laughed at the comments about how much color had returned to Robin’s cheeks.

He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but of course he’d had to. He’d promised to return the very next day, though, and spend all of it with her.

Now they were in a secluded clearing he’d taken her to just outside of London. It was a perfect place to have a picnic, since no one would be able to see them from the road, and if anyone did approach, they would hear them coming in enough time to avoid any scandal. Which was very good, since they hadn’t yet unpacked the basket he’d brought because they couldn’t stop kissing.

Finally, though, he managed to pull himself away out of concern for her. Her aunt had told him she’d skipped breakfast, which meant she hadn’t eaten all day.

When she leaned after him, chasing his lips, he laughed and carefully pushed her back by clasping his hands around her upper arms.

“You must eat, Robin,” he chastised her.

“I don’t want to eat,” she protested. “I want to kiss you.”

“I must admit that I never knew kissing could be so enjoyable,” he agreed. “But we also need to talk.”

“Must we?” she whined playfully.

He chuckled. “Yes. I have questions, and many more feelings to confess.”

She nodded and settled down beside him. “Very well.” She reached up and ruffled his curls. “It would be easier to resist if you weren’t so extraordinarily handsome.”

He blushed. “Have you always thought that?”

“Since the moment we met,” she replied sincerely. “Especially the cleft in your chin,” she mused, pressing a quick kiss to it.

He rolled his eyes at her affectionately and then began setting out the food. “The first thing I found attractive about you was your very pleasing laugh,” he admitted. “It affected me greatly to the point that I dreamed of it, though I had no idea why at the time.”

“Your touch did the same to me,” she informed him. “Though at the time I thought it merely a passing fancy. I was quite infatuated with the idea of you even before I arrived in London.”

“Oh?” he teased, handing her a plate.

She gladly took it and began eating as she talked. “Your cases inspired my books. Not in the sense that I stole their exact happenings, of course. But the methods used to solve the crimes are certainly yours. Meeting you was rather intimidating.”

“You fooled me, then. I thought you quite bold. Well, impertinent, really,” he corrected himself. “I said bold to you at the time to be polite.”

“Only because I never seriously thought of you as a marriage prospect,” she assured him. “I would have been entirely nervous if I’d thought there was even a chance of it. When you showed up at my aunt’s after that first ball, I knew then that I would say yes to you if you asked.”

“But you knew I wasn’t there to court you,” he remembered.

“Of course. But a woman has to be prepared. And our feelings can’t be helped, as we’ve discovered. That was mine. Along with the embarrassment I felt about my aunt presenting you a list of my wifely virtues.”

“Well, she wasn’t wrong, Robin. You are all of the things she promised and more. She was especially right about your beauty. Though I could not fathom why I found your form so pleasing upon first meeting you.”

“And now?”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and always will be.”

She blushed and giggled, and he reached out to touch her cheek. “That’s one of the things I find most fetching about you,” he revealed. “The real color in your cheeks.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I hate rouge. It’s unnatural and impossible to remove.”

He chuckled. “Well, I don’t like it either, so I don’t mind if you never wear any.”

“I won’t.” She paused and then smiled mischievously, her eyes twinkling. “Do you still find me vexing?”

He laughed loudly. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“I don’t think I’d call it vexing anymore,” he decided. “Honest seems more appropriate.”

“Did you really want me to work your case with you? Or did you just give in because you felt you had no other choice?”

“I don’t work with partners, so of course I didn’t. However, I have recently discovered that the right partner can be quite enjoyable.”

He raised an eyebrow at her as he continued to eat and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Well, you threw me for a loop when you revealed that you were carrying my novel in your jacket pocket, if it makes you feel better.”

“I’m still surprised that you told me you wrote it. That was very risky.”

“It was, but it seemed appropriate at the time. There’s something thrilling about someone else knowing. I’ve been reviewed, of course, but no one knows it’s me. On one hand, it’s remarkably unbiased. On the other, it’s like not being seen.”

“Well, Robin, I certainly see you,” he murmured, setting his empty plate aside.

Her blush returned slightly, but she ignored the innuendo behind his words for the moment. “Do you really find my books tolerable, Sherlock? Or were you just trying not to hurt my feelings because you wanted my help?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I find them more than tolerable, actually. I’m not one who generally reads novels, as you know, but I have every single one you’ve written, and I’ve read them all multiple times. I simply don’t mention them to others because novels are seen as frivolous.”

“At least you’re not a woman.” She rolled her eyes. “Novels are dangerous for us. They make us downright unrespectable, if not hysterical,” she huffed.

“You are many things, Robin, but hysterical is not one of them.”

“Well, I suppose I should trust you, since you’re such a big fan,” she purred.

She set her own empty plate aside and he breathed in sharply as she straddled his lap and put her arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss.

He was tense for a moment, but quickly relaxed, putting his arms around her and gathering her closer as he returned the kiss.

“Did you get enough to eat, Robin?”

He needed to make sure she was taken care of more than anything else. The role reversal was amusing to him. She’d done exactly the same on the day that he’d accepted her proposal.

“Hush, Sherlock.”

And he did. But it was only for a moment, though she was the one to ask a question this time.

“What were you thinking when I proposed to you that night? You left so quickly.”

He licked his lips and gazed down into her eyes as he answered. “Honestly? I left so I wouldn’t just say yes to you. I was already confused. I’d been so free in my gestures that you had to warn me, when I had never before dreamed of being so profligate. And I could hardly think around you. Your intelligence, your beauty, your scent…” He sighed. “They all disarmed me totally.”

“It would have been easy to trap you into having to marry me,” she reflected. “But I wanted to give you the choice.”

“I know you could have. And I tried to come up with a reason to refuse you. Oh, how I tried.”

“And you couldn’t come up with anything at all?”

“I came up with one reason.”

Her brow furrowed. “What was it?”

“I worried that one day you might truly fall in love, and that being married to me would deprive you of the man you really wanted.”

“Sherlock.” She tenderly ran her fingers through his hair as she beamed at him. “You are a far sweeter man than anyone gives you credit for.” She kissed his forehead. “I love only you,” she assured him.

“I know that now,” he agreed softly. “I love only you as well.” He paused, then shrugged. “My brother, however, is going to despise you. He hates when women think for themselves.”

“I’m surprised he gave you permission to marry me at all.”

“He remembered that you are a countess, which I hadn’t even known. And that you have an estate. Your connection to the Bridgertons helped as well, of course. But there’s a reason I didn’t introduce you before the wedding.”

She laughed. “I promise to behave until we’re wed and he can do nothing about it,” she teased.

He shook his head at her. “It’s not that. I didn’t introduce you because I didn’t want you to call the whole thing off because you couldn’t stand him.”

She giggled and kissed him again. “You’re never getting rid of me, Sherlock Holmes.”

“I hope not, Robin Ballard.”

She stared up at him uncertainly. “My family is no great prize, either,” she reminded him.

“Nonsense,” he argued. “Your aunt and her children are actually rather delightful. I look forward to meeting your surrogate parents. I will deal with your father when I have to, but otherwise, I will put him from my mind.”

She hugged him fiercely, burying her face in his chest. He understood her more than anyone ever had.

He held her close, his heart pounding. “You have taught me so much, Robin, and awakened so much in me. I never thought I would want a life companion, much less fall in love with one. I cannot thank you enough, so I will do everything in my power to keep you happy and take care of you.”

“I am happy, Sherlock. I swear it.”

She peeked back up at him and he tilted his head. “But?” he prodded her.

“You asked me about physical affection not long ago.”

“Ah. And you want to know where we stand?” She nodded, and he nodded back. “I’d like to know that too.”

After a moment of silence, he confessed. “I imagined being with you the night after I asked. Like a husband would be with his wife. I found it… extremely pleasurable to think of you in that manner.”

“I imagined the same thing.”

He took a deep breath and shifted underneath her as he asked, “Did you… touch yourself?”

The way she gasped and bit her lip, the way she tensed in his lap, and the deep blush that spread over her cheeks, told him the answer before she did.

But she deflected. “Why did you think about pleasure at all?” she whispered. “I thought you didn’t want it, like we discussed.”

“I find you to be the one exception to that rule,” he informed her. “Perhaps it is merely because you are the only woman I’ve ever desired. I can’t say for sure, of course.”

She grinned at him. “Perhaps more investigation is in order?” she suggested slyly.

“Now that’s not fair,” he teased. “Using investigation against me.”

He reached up and rubbed a loose strand of her hair between his fingers. “As long as the only investigation is with you, I agree.”

“I did touch myself,” she confessed. “Did you?”

“Oh, yes,” he remembered.

He swept his thumb over her cheekbone, cupping her hip gently with the other. He swallowed thickly and waited as she carefully removed his jacket, then unbuttoned his vest. He moved his arms and shrugged his shoulders when it was required of him to assist her.

She was sitting across his thighs, not quite entirely in his lap. If he were to pull her forward, she would be able to feel the starkest evidence of his desire.

He found himself craving her reaction. He knew she had no personal experience of pleasure beyond him, but didn’t know how much information she possessed otherwise. He was worried that she might be afraid, or disgusted.

And despite how much he wanted her, he had absolutely no intention of taking her here on the edge of the woods. Their first time together would be on their wedding night, when it was proper and they could be comfortably alone in a warm bed where no one would bother them.

Just so she knew, he said it out loud. “Not until our wedding night, Robin. I promise. Though you should know I want you desperately.”

“Not until our wedding night, Sherlock,” she agreed. “I know you want me. I want you too.”

“I don’t know anything about… making love,” he stammered. “Obviously, I’ve never done it. I’d never even thought about it until you.”

“I assumed as much. I’ve never done it either. But I know more about it than most women might.”

“I don’t want to scare you, or… repulse you.”

She laughed lightly and ran her fingers through his dark, dense curls. “You could never repulse me, Sherlock. I already told you that I think you’re handsome.”

“It’s not so much that as… another part of my anatomy,” he mumbled.

“And why would that be repulsive to me?” she wondered, slowly sliding forward until she was seated firmly in his lap and could feel what he was talking about.

He gasped and his hips bucked up into her. “I… I don’t… um…” he fumbled for words, any words to describe what he was feeling, but in that moment, his brain utterly failed him.

“Oh my,” she murmured, her voice less than a whisper. “That’s rather… that’s… mmm…”

She rocked her hips, her thighs clenching against his. For the first time, he noticed how wide her legs were spread so she could sit across him.

“What is it?” he begged to know, unable to focus on anything else.

“Well, ah…” She flushed and her hazel eyes fluttered open to catch his wide blue ones. “It’s… exciting,” she finally managed to breathe. “That I make you feel that… ardent.”

He still seemed uncertain, so she leaned up and kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his mouth. “You remember when I fainted at the boxing club, I assume?”

He chuckled breathlessly. “Yes. I must admit, I’m still shocked. I didn’t think a simple punch would frighten you so severely.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “That’s because it wasn’t the punch, you silly man.”

“What was it, then?”

He made a strangled sound of surprised pleasure as she tugged his shirt free from his breeches and touched the bare skin of his chest and belly. “You were naked from the waist up,” she reminded him. “Glistening with sweat, your hair damp and falling over your forehead. And you’re so big and broad, your chest covered in gorgeous dark hair, that I was simply… overcome.”

She scraped her blunt fingernails down his chest as she spoke, feeling the firmness of his muscles. His pupils had almost entirely taken over his eyes as he gazed down at her. He swiftly moved his hands to her breasts, pushing them up and almost out of her corset.

“Oh!” she squeaked in surprise, moaning immediately after.

She arched her back to push herself further into his hands, grinding down against him at the same time. She was starting to feel like she’d felt alone in her room with her hand between her legs, but this was infinitely better.

She felt aroused beyond belief with his powerful hardness pressing up against her, and his hands on her breasts were so much larger than hers, and slightly rougher.

“When we were alone together and you were tending to my wounds,” he rasped, “I wanted to unlace your corset and take you in my hands like this.”

Her head tipped back and she whined, her hands digging into his chest as she moved against him. He squeezed her, stopping briefly when he heard the crinkle of paper.

“What was that?”

She laughed. “Find out,” she challenged him.

He dipped his fingers between her cleavage and withdrew a folded up piece of paper. He unfolded it with one hand so he didn’t have to stop touching her.

He smiled as he realized it was the drawing he’d made of her.

“I carry it with me,” she murmured.

“Why?” he wondered.

“Because it was a true gift. You gave it to me without anyone else seeing. It wasn’t part of our ruse. It was genuine.”

“All of my gifts were genuine, Robin.”

“I know that now. But I didn’t know it then.”

He slipped the drawing under a plate so it wouldn’t be lost to the wind, then lowered his head gently to her chest, kissing his way over her mounded breasts, sighing happily at the sensation of her incredibly soft skin against his lips.

“You know,” he mused, “I couldn’t picture you on top of me before. But now…”

His words dissolved into a groan as she resumed moving her hips. They panted together until she tensed against him, letting out a long, low moan.

He could feel her pulsing against him, and pride swelled in his chest as he realized what he’d done. Or thought he’d done, at least.

His suspicions were confirmed when she raised his head and kissed him sweetly, then whispered, “You need to finish too.”

She reached between them, grazing her palm against the hard length now clearly outlined in the tight fabric of his breeches. She began to rub it, her lips never leaving his. He brought his hands up to cup her face, gasping uncontrollably as he came undone beneath her tender touch.

It was so much better than his hand had been, and this was merely hers through his clothes. He could only imagine how it would feel when she could be entirely his.

After, he retreated into the trees a bit to clean himself up. By the time he returned, she was put to rights, laying back on the blanket and staring up at the sky.

He laid down beside her. “I have one more question.”

She twined their fingers together between them. “Yes?”

“Your mother ran. She might be out there somewhere, happy. Miss Beverley ran. She might be in danger, of course, but she might not be.” He let the words sink in for a moment, then added, “Why have you stayed? Why didn’t you just run like they did?”

She turned her head and looked at him seriously. “Running away doesn’t solve anyone’s problems, Sherlock,” she began.

She paused, then resumed. “Especially for women. When we run, we disappear. If we become extraordinary, no one notices. And hiding does us a disservice.”

His brow furrowed as she continued. “If I am to make a difference, I must be visible. I must be respectable enough to not draw criticism, and manage to skate a line so thin it’s barely there. That is why I say my books are by a woman, though my name is not on them. That is why I came here to get married and do my duty for my family. If I can be an example to women of how to choose a good partner, of how to preserve one’s freedom within a marriage, then perhaps, in the future, things can change.”

“You are a very selfless woman, Robin,” he observed quietly. “Perhaps that has been my problem all my life,” he realized. “I have not been selfless at all.”

“You help people, Sherlock,” she protested.

“Because of the glory, though,” he persisted. “Because I wanted to be a man people looked up to. And when I achieved that, I used it to dismiss those I considered inferior to me. It has only come to my attention very recently that I am blind to the wrongs of the world because they do not wrong me.”

“So change,” she advised him simply.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not. But I’ll help you.”

He smiled. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I have a question for you as well.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“If we are to truly be husband and wife, we should decide whether or not we want children.”

“That’s not a question,” he pointed out, raising a hand to her cheek. “Do you want children, Robin?”

“I think I do,” she admitted. “It’s a conclusion I’ve only come to recently, since I thought I wouldn’t really have a choice when it came down to it, regardless of if I ended up married or not. But I would never force you to have them if you do not want them. However, they are always a possibility, even if we take precautions.”

“May I have more time to think about it?”

“Of course. We’re not getting married until the end of the season.”

He glanced at the sun moving steadily toward the horizon. “I should get you home.”

“Do you have to?” she murmured. “I’m much happier with you.”

He stroked her cheek again and raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. “As I am with you,” he assured her.

They stared at each other for another moment, then stood and prepared to depart.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Robin take a trip. The inn on the way only has one bed, so they take advantage.

At Simon and Daphne’s wedding, Sherlock and Robin stood together and watched, both imagining their own ceremony. They hadn’t spoken of the details yet, beyond the timing and the dress, but they would have to soon.

At the party afterward, Sherlock kept her close, his eyes widening as he observed all of the opulence around them.

“Do you want something this lavish?” he finally whispered to her.

She snorted behind her hand and shook her head. “Heavens, no.”

“Thank goodness. This is far too much for me.”

“Me as well. However, you might not be able to stop my aunt.”

“Good point,” he agreed, smiling at the thought.

She retreated to her room shortly before the end of the party to change and make sure she hadn’t forgotten to pack anything. She and Sherlock were finally making their planned visit to Miss Beverley’s country estate.

And they were stopping at Norland Park, her home, on the way.

She was quite nervous about it. Sherlock had to meet her father, though.

In truth, that wasn’t what she was most apprehensive about. She was far more worried about him seeing her in her normal state.

Here, she had very few responsibilities. There, she worked almost every waking moment just to keep everything running, and she assumed it had all fallen behind in her absence.

He was going to see her with an apron tied around her gown and a cloth covering her hair while she scrubbed and cooked. He would notice that her skirts and shoes got muddy when she made her visits to the village. He’d watch as she sat at her writing desk surrounded by paper, her fingers dirty from using both pencil and ink, while she tried to put another novel together.

It was who she really was, and he hadn’t truly seen her that way yet. Deep down, she knew that if he couldn’t accept that, he didn’t deserve her. And she really had no basis for thinking that his mind would change, considering what had passed between them, especially during the last few days.

But it still scared her. She had never shown herself to anyone in this manner before, and she didn’t want to think about what it might cost her.

She looked up as her door opened and smiled as Eloise entered. She came and sat on Robin’s bed excitedly before announcing, “The queen has asked me to help her discover the identity of Lady Whistledown.”

“That’s wonderful, Eloise. I’m sure that if anyone can figure it out, you can. You are remarkably observant, and since you don’t have suitors to distract you this season, you have the perfect vantage point to watch your suspects closely.”

Robin paused. She knew how much Eloise wanted to discover who Lady Whistledown was, but she also thought some tempering words were necessary. “But you must be careful,” she cautioned her. “An untoward accusation could be disastrous for the one it is directed at, and you don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Of course not. I have a heart, unlike Lady Whistledown. She only cares about how many papers she sells, not how many people she slanders.”

Robin wasn’t shocked that the general attitude in the ton had turned against Lady Whistledown. While she had been a novelty at first, now everyone had either been a victim of her pages, or was fearful that they would appear in them next.

“I know, Eloise. I just know that zeal can sometimes overtake reason.”

Sherlock appeared at the door. “Am I interrupting? I came to bring your trunk downstairs.”

“Thank you. No, I think we’re done here, unless there was more you wanted to talk about, Eloise?”

The girl shook her head. “Have a lovely trip.”

“Good luck in your investigation.”

Sherlock took Robin’s trunk and she followed him down the stairs. Eloise raised an eyebrow and took a sheet of paper from her pocket, then unfolded it and took it over to Robin’s desk.

Using a pencil so she could erase her notes later as necessary, she wrote down her newest suspicion.

_Perhaps my cousin Robin is Lady Whistledown. She arrived in town just before the publication began, and has proven herself adept at solving mysteries._

Eloise wasn’t sure she really thought that Robin was Lady Whistledown. But a good investigator would consider every option.

****

Sherlock had hired a carriage for their journey. They set off at the same time as Simon and Daphne, though in the opposite direction.

Despite wearing one of her traveling cloaks, Robin was still chilly. She leaned against Sherlock, who was always quite warm. He smiled and put his arm around her after tucking a blanket around both of their legs.

She pulled out the writing kit he’d given her and opened it. “Would you like to see what I’m working on? I finished the outline last night.”

“Of course.”

He took the pages from her and began to read them carefully. She bit her lip nervously, but didn’t say anything while he looked them over. No one had ever read her work before it was finished.

He bent until their temples were touching. “They fall in love, do they?” he murmured.

She blushed and nodded. “Yes.”

“When did you come up with that idea?” he wondered.

“Before.”

“I like it. All of it. I can’t wait to read it.”

“I am happy to have your approval,” she whispered.

“You will always have my approval,” he assured her.

“Don’t go easy on me now just because I’m going to be your wife,” she scoffed. “I can take real criticism.”

“Duly noted,” he chuckled, glancing up at the sound of rain falling against the carriage roof.

“I hope Simon and Daphne didn’t encounter such weather. It might delay their wedding night,” Robin observed.

“Their wedding night hadn’t even crossed my mind,” Sherlock hummed, cupping her chin in his fingers and tilting her head up. “I am more concerned about the delay of ours.”

“Ours isn’t delayed,” she teased softly. “It just hasn’t happened yet.”

“Mmm.” He kissed her gently, clasping her to him. “Why did we make a decision like that?”

“Well, neither of us was particularly eager to get married before,” she reminded him.

“We were such fools,” he decided, kissing her again, deeper this time.

She slid her hand up into his curls, getting lost in the kiss until the carriage jolted to a stop and forced them to part.

They waited until the driver came around and opened the door. “I’m sorry, sir,” he addressed Sherlock, “but the carriage is stuck in the mud. I’d offer the horses, but I have no saddles.”

“How far are we from the inn?” Robin asked.

“Still half a mile, miss.”

“That’s not very far. We can walk.”

He was going to see her in the mud eventually. Better to start breaking him in now. Perhaps the exercise would even calm her nerves.

Sherlock clasped her arm. “Let me go. I’ll see if the inn has a horse and come back for you.”

“So you can get twice as wet and the inn’s horse can get stuck in the mud?” she scoffed. “Come now, Sherlock. I’m not a delicate flower.”

She unbuttoned her traveling cloak so she could hold it over her head and stared at him pointedly. He sighed and then smiled, getting out with every intention of helping her down. But by the time he reached her side of the carriage, she had already jumped into the mud.

“I’ve changed my mind.” He rose his voice to be heard over the rain. “You do still vex me, Robin.”

She laughed gaily as she began to make her way down the road. Her cloak was not doing her much good, as the rain was sluicing sideways and they had to walk directly into it. By the time they arrived at the inn, they were both soaked through.

Robin wrapped her cloak back around her so she wasn’t unseemly as Sherlock spoke to the innkeeper. She shivered slightly and tried valiantly to stop her teeth from chattering. She didn’t want Sherlock fussing unnecessarily. She’d warm shortly.

The innkeeper left and Sherlock turned to her, rubbing her upper arms and shaking his head at her disapprovingly. But, to his credit, he didn’t say anything about her decision.

“They only have one room available, and it only has one bed,” he informed her. “But I have told the innkeeper that we are engaged, and he is going to provide us with a privacy screen, as well as vouch that nothing untoward happened. I will sleep on the floor.”

She nodded, inhaling slowly as she gazed into his eyes. She could tell what he was really saying, and the realization certainly warmed her through momentarily, making her heart beat faster.

“That sounds perfectly acceptable,” she answered breathlessly.

When the innkeeper returned, he led them to their room, apologizing profusely the entire way. Sherlock and Robin both assured him that it was fine.

When he opened the door and let them inside, Sherlock turned and requested that dinner be delivered to their room at the appropriate time and left outside the door with only a knock.

“I want to make sure the lady doesn’t catch a chill,” he explained, “so she will not be fit to be seen. I’ll stay behind the privacy screen, of course, but I don’t want to risk any further impropriety.”

“Absolutely, sir. I will follow your orders to the letter. And may I say again that it is a pleasure to have such a famous detective in my establishment.”

He scurried away, finally leaving them alone. Sherlock made sure the door was locked before turning to her.

“I do believe the pleasure will be all ours,” he disagreed.

He walked slowly towards her, reaching out and pushing her damp traveling cloak from her shoulders. He hung it up by the fire, along with his jacket and vest, then took off his boots. She slipped off her shoes and put them next to his on the hearth as he turned back to her.

He glanced at her soaked muslin, which was no longer doing anything to hide her figure. He reached for her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Do I have your permission?” he asked in a low voice.

“Oh, yes, Sherlock,” she breathed.

He surged forward, kissing her deeply as he pushed her dress down her shoulders. She pulled her arms out of it so that he could peel it from her skin until it pooled on the floor.

He started to unlace her corset as her fingers found his shirt, tugging it free of his breeches and pushing it up. He pulled it over his head and let it fall to the floor, then finished unlacing her as she shoved her petticoat down and stepped out of it.

She was very aware that suddenly, she was wearing absolutely nothing but her stockings in front of him.

He gazed at her. The curves of her body were even more beautiful bared to him like this. He wanted to touch her everywhere at once. He just couldn’t decide where to start.

“Are you disappointed?” she wondered in a small voice, her arms lifting like she was going to cover herself.

He shook his head and grabbed her wrists, his eyes fixed on her breasts and the way they rose and fell as she breathed. Finally, he folded her into his arms and bent his head for another kiss.

“Hardly, Robin. You are the most stunning woman I have ever met,” he assured her.

She breathed in shakily and kissed him again, gasping as he lifted her. Her legs automatically parted and wrapped around his waist as he crawled into the large, comfortable bed that had been provided for them.

Well, for her, really. But what no one else knew would not hurt them.

He pushed the blankets and linens down and slipped them in between the sheets to make sure that she stayed warm. The crackling fire was slowly spreading heat throughout the room as well.

His muscles bunched as she ran her fingers delicately over them. He kissed his way down her neck to her chest, cupping her naked breasts in his hands. She moaned softly as he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, teasing them into eager pink peaks that were begging to be sucked.

He kissed one gently. “Oh!” she panted, writhing beneath him, her fingers fumbling for his breeches so she could undo them.

When she did, she slid her hands into them and squeezed his bottom. His hips bucked as he kissed her other nipple, then sucked it into his mouth. One of her hands traveled up his back and to his head so her fingers could tangle in his curls.

When his head moved so he could suck her other nipple, her other hand moved from the back of his breeches to the front, and then he was in her palm. He groaned and kissed his way back to her mouth, thrusting gently, unable to resist the friction.

“Sherlock…” she begged. “I want…”

She squeezed him and opened her legs wider. He knew what she was asking. He wanted it too, but he couldn’t bring himself to oblige her.

“We can’t, Robin,” he managed to say gently. “It is too long until the end of the season, and if I were to get you with child, everyone would know I had taken advantage before we were wed.”

“I know you’re right, but…”

She moaned in frustration and he chuckled. “I know, I know. I want you too, Robin. Please don’t think it’s that.”

“I know of a way to give you the same kind of pleasure without that risk,” she revealed. “Please let me?”

“Only if I may pleasure you too,” he bargained.

She nodded and pushed up against his chest. “Get on your back.”

He did as she asked, watching as she peeled his breeches down until he was completely naked. Then she leaned over him, taking him in her hand again and stroking him gently.

He crossed his arms behind his head and enjoyed the feeling. He quickly moved, though, pressing his hands into the bed as she lowered her mouth and brushed her lips against that most private part of him.

“What… what are you doing?” he wondered, his eyes wide.

She smiled up at him. “Tell me if you don’t like it. I’ve never done it before, so I’m just guessing at how.”

Before he could ask for more clarification, her mouth was around him. She slowly bobbed her head, clearly experimenting with the sensation.

Then she hummed in satisfaction and began to move more quickly, taking him deeper. He balled the sheets up in his fists and his head tipped back as he groaned loudly, hoping he couldn’t be heard over the storm and the noise that surely dominated the first floor of the inn below them.

She stretched out between his massive thighs, one hand stroking what wasn’t in her mouth, the other squeezing one of those thighs. He was so unprepared for the warm wetness of her mouth gently sucking at him that he was quickly overcome.

He tried to say something to her, but found that he couldn’t form words. As he tensed and took his release, he moved his hands, clapping one over his mouth to muffle his cry and cupping the other gently around the back of her head as she started to swallow.

When he was done, she raised her head and licked her lips. “I was told that last part can be unpleasant, but I didn’t find it so,” she observed.

He relaxed into the sheets and laughed low in his throat as she crawled up to rest against his side. He turned his head and looked at her, then cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her forcefully.

When he realized she tasted different and that that was because she’d had him in her mouth, he kissed her even harder, rolling her onto her back, pushing himself up on his arms so he wouldn’t crush her.

“That was incredible, Robin,” he whispered, glancing down between their bodies. “Can I do the same to you?”

“I imagine it’s rather different, but yes, you can,” she giggled.

He grinned at her boyishly, kissing her again, then trailing his lips down her neck, lingering at her breasts before daring to go further. Suddenly, all of that soft skin he’d dreamed of was at his disposal, and he couldn’t get enough as he kissed her belly and then her thighs before putting his face between her legs.

There was so much to explore. She had slick pink folds and soft curls, but his attention was most taken by a tiny nub of flesh that seemed to be begging for his touch.

When he gently licked it, she cried out loudly. Not wanting to stop, he reached up and tenderly put his hand over her mouth. Her fingers danced down the thickness of his arm, stroking the hair underneath it while her other hand tugged on his curls.

He lifted his hand briefly. “Was that good?”

“Yes, Sherlock. God, do it again.”

“Gladly.”

He lowered his head again, concentrating on that spot. He kissed and licked and sucked it, and before he knew it, her back was arching and she was pulsing against his mouth as she cried out into his hand.

He didn’t stop until she relaxed and her breathing evened out. Before they could speak, there was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get supper,” Sherlock told her. “You stay right here.”

He got up, cleaned his face, and pulled on his breeches and shirt. When he returned with their supper tray, he shook his head when he saw her sitting up at the dressing table, wearing a nightdress and brushing her hair.

He set the supper tray down beside the bed, stripping his shirt off again and wrapping his arms around her from behind, bending to kiss her neck. “I thought I told you to stay put,” he teased.

“You don’t like my new nightdress? You bought it for me,” she teased back.

“I like your hair down,” he remarked, burying his nose in the soft brown waves. “I’ve never seen it like this before.”

He put his arm under her knees and lifted her, bringing her back to the bed so they could eat. She snuggled into his side and put her feet under the covers.

As they began to eat, she glanced up at him. “You said you feared you would get me with child,” she said quietly. “Is that just a concern, or have you thought more about it?”

“I thought more about it,” he admitted. “I was thinking about what you said yesterday, about change.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “If we have children, and we teach them to be better than ourselves, they might change the world for the better. My sister is out there changing the world right now, thanks to what my mother taught her. You’ve changed me by being who you are. It struck me that people like us should have children.”

“That’s very practical, Sherlock, but I don’t want you to say yes to children because you feel like you should have them. I want you to want them.”

He smiled. “I do want them, Robin. As I was contemplating all the logical reasons, I fell asleep and had a dream.”

“A dream about what?”

He blushed. “About our daughter.”

She put her arms around him, propping her chin against his chest and gazing up into his eyes. “You dreamed about our daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about her.”

He held her close, letting his hand fall to her belly, idly tracing circles there as he spoke.

“She had messy brown curls and big blue eyes,” he began shyly. “And your nose. And she was… precocious,” he laughed, “just like you. She had hidden something in the house and left me clues so I could solve the mystery of where it was.”

Robin laughed along with him. “She sounds wonderful,” she choked out, trying to stop herself from tearing up.

“I want her to be real,” he said softly. “When I woke up and realized that she wasn’t yet, I… I hurt, Robin.”

She put her arms around his neck and slipped into his lap, kissing him softly. “We’ll make her real, Sherlock.”

“After we are married,” he reminded her firmly as he pulled her nightdress up. “But, for now, can we do what we did before supper again?”

“As many times as you would like,” she promised.

He kissed her as his hand slipped between her legs.

Soon, the life that they both desired would be within their reach. It was a life he had never realized he wanted, but now that he knew, he couldn’t wait for it to begin.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets Robin’s father.

As they left the inn the next morning, Robin was quiet. In the carriage, she burrowed into Sherlock, resting her head on his chest and shutting her eyes, enjoying a few more moments of peace before they reached their destination.

He held her close, resting his lips on her forehead. “Everything will be fine, Robin,” he murmured. “I promise.”

She hugged him tightly. She believed that he meant it, but she also knew that he couldn’t be sure.

A few more hours in the carriage brought them to Norland Park. Robin sat up when they reached the edge of the estate. Sherlock looked out the window with her, squeezing her shoulders reassuringly.

“I’m afraid it’s overgrown,” she apologized ruefully. “I garden around the house when I can, but I’ve never been able to get out this far.”

“It will all be rectified in due time, Robin,” Sherlock soothed her.

She nodded hopefully. She would sincerely love to see her childhood home restored. She couldn’t even remember a time when it had been pristine, and she wanted to see it that way one day.

Not long after, the grounds gave way to the house. It was obvious that it was falling apart. The whole left side was uninhabitable because the roof and windows needed repairing. She had managed to keep the right side comfortable, but it was a feat that often seemed thankless. She’d never been able to get ahead.

As the carriage stopped in front of the ramshackle steps, Robin couldn’t help smiling. Betsy was waiting for her there, clearly excited.

Sherlock exited the carriage first, turning to lift her down. She let him, needing the comfort of his closeness and touch.

He kissed her cheek before they made their way towards her. “You’re home,” he told her.

“Oh, Robin! Let me look at you, love,” Betsy exclaimed, catching her in an embrace as soon as she was near enough. “You’re as beautiful as ever.” She turned to Sherlock. “And is this your man? Your father won’t let us read his letters, of course, but we’re getting the pages from that Lady Whistledown in the village. I read about him in there.”

Robin blushed deeply and nodded, glancing up at Sherlock. “This is him, Betsy. Sherlock Holmes, the world’s greatest detective, and my fiancé.”

The pride in her voice was evident, which had the effect of making him blush as well. “It’s a pleasure to be here, Betsy,” he said, assuming she wouldn’t mind the familiarity in his address. “I’ve heard so much about you. I must thank you for being so kind to my Robin. I wouldn’t have found her if you hadn’t taken care of her when she was born.”

“Oh, sir, it was my pleasure,” Betsy assured him. “I had lost my own babe, sadly, but I was more than happy to save another. She has turned out so well, don’t you think?”

Robin shook her head in embarrassment as Sherlock heartily agreed. “She did indeed.”

“Come inside, both of you. It’s so good to have you home, love, if only for a little while.”

They followed Betsy inside and Robin quickly turned somber. Even in this wing, the plaster was starting to crumble. Paint was chipped, wallpaper was peeling, and stray leaves littered the halls.

“I’ve done the best I could while you were gone, Robin,” Betsy explained apologetically.

“You have done an amazing job, Betsy, and I will accept no other evaluation,” Robin declared. “The entire estate will be undergoing repairs shortly, thanks to the generosity of Mr. Holmes.”

“I am truly impressed by all the work that has been done over the years to keep Norland Park functioning,” Sherlock complimented them. “I want it to be a lovely home for us and our children.” He beamed at Robin, unable to contain his excitement about their eventual family. “Of course, you and Donald are invited to remain as long as you wish, Betsy.”

“You are so very kind, Mr. Holmes,” Betsy murmured, her eyes shimmering with tears.

“It is only right to take care of your family, Betsy,” he replied.

Robin sighed heavily as they stopped at the staircase. “Speaking of family,” she whispered, glancing upwards, “I suppose it is time you met my father.”

“About that, Robin.” Betsy stepped forward and took the younger woman’s hands, squeezing them tightly. “I have been forbidden to tell you this, but now that you are here, I must. I do not know if he will tell you himself, even now.”

“Tell me what, Betsy?”

“Your father is near death, Robin. According to the doctor, he has mere days left. I wanted to write, but he swore he’d remove me from the house if I did. I just couldn’t risk it.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Robin insisted immediately.

Suddenly, she felt numb. She was aware that a multitude of emotions were coursing through her, but at the moment, she couldn’t make sense of any of them.

She jumped as Sherlock put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Robin. What can I do?”

“Nothing, I’m sure,” she answered practically. “My father has always used hypochondria as a way of avoiding his responsibilities. He had actually been ill lately, but I had no idea it was so serious.”

“Perhaps it’s not as bad as you’ve all been led to believe, then. Perhaps he is exaggerating his symptoms.”

“He might be, but I’m certain the doctor is right. Let’s go see him.”

As she mounted the steps with him at her side, she realized how vastly she had misrepresented her father to Sherlock. She was so used to speaking of him a certain way, and she had answered his questions before she knew he truly cared for her.

If he had asked her more since then, she might have answered very differently.

She didn’t have time to prepare him.

She led him directly to her father’s room and entered without knocking. Her feelings were becoming much clearer, and she wasn’t going to keep them to herself for very long.

She stood at the end of her father’s bed and gazed at him sternly, not saying anything. He had a strict rule about her speaking before he did, and she was content to let him start and think he had the upper hand.

“You’re home, I see,” he grumbled. “Your aunt wrote to me. Is what she says true? You’re marrying that ridiculous detective I’ve read about in the papers?”

“Would he be standing in front of you for any other reason?” she retorted coldly. “Sherlock Holmes, this is David Ballard.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the tone in her voice. He’d never heard her sound like that.

“Count,” her father reminded her. “You never use my title.”

“Because you’ve squandered it,” she reminded him shortly. “You’ve never done a thing to keep it. Is it true that you’re dying?” she plowed ahead, intending to bring everything else back up later.

“That stupid woman wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“She only just told me, and don’t you dare call her stupid. Betsy saved my life. She is my mother, and her husband was more of a father to me than you ever were. How long have you been dying?” she demanded to know, not letting the subject change.

“Since before you left, but no one knew until after,” he revealed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have stayed out of spite to watch me die and missed the season.”

Robin laughed bitterly. “That’s what you think of me? That I want to watch you die out of spite?”

“Of course,” he replied confidently. “You’ve always hated me.”

“I never hated you,” she protested softly. “I was sad because I wanted you to love me.”

She took a shaky breath. She did not want to cry in front of him, but she knew it was inevitable.

“How could I ever love you, considering where you came from?” he said dismissively. “You’ve done nothing but disgrace me. I thought your aunt would make a better match for you, but apparently you’ve gone and fallen in love and ruined that prospect. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve failed at everything else I’ve ever asked of you, though I have tried my best to bring you up well and never been cruel to you.”

“What a high standard you set for yourself,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “It’s impossible to be cruel when you don’t raise your daughter. I was practically abandoned, except for when you wanted to rant about my mother.”

She reached out and squeezed the ornate wooden frame of his bed, fighting back tears. Sherlock continued to watch in stunned silence. Robin’s father began to speak again, but she quickly shook her head.

“Stop. This is the last chance I’m going to have to say this to you, and you are going to listen to it.”

He looked scandalized by her impertinence, but for some reason, he obeyed her.

“You have failed me for my whole life. I am the one who has worked tirelessly to make sure there would be something of this family’s legacy to salvage when you were gone. I am the only reason this house is suitable to live in at all. I bore all of your burdens, and you’ve never even acknowledged it, much less thanked me for it. And now you mock my choice of husband. You are lucky I found a husband at all. Not because of me, as you keep saying, but because of you. No one wanted your ramshackle estate and empty coffers. You should be thanking him for seeing past all of the faults you’ve endowed me with and choosing to make a match based on love alone.”

She knew he couldn’t argue with anything she’d said. Not really. But she also knew he wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

Yet she never expected him to say what he did next.

“If you had never been born, I wouldn’t have these problems. I would have been better off. If I had been thinking clearly that night, I would have had you taken to the woods behind the house to die. As it stands, I should disinherit you, just like I did your whore mother, but there’s no one else to give the inheritance to, especially since Violet Bridgerton has now also failed me spectacularly.”

His voice was so devoid of emotion that it made Sherlock’s blood curdle in his veins. Practically, he understood that some parents didn’t love their children, but to hear it in such a blunt manner, and directed at someone he loved dearly, horrified him.

Tears started to stream down Robin’s cheeks as she backed up from the bed. “I’m not responsible for what she did,” she choked out. “I wish you could have seen that, just once.”

Somehow, she managed to turn and walk steadily out of the room. Once she was in the hallway, though, she ran to the study. Sherlock followed her, catching her as she crumpled and began to sob uncontrollably.

He was completely bewildered. He’d expected her father to be rigid and taciturn, rather like his own brother. She’d said he wasn’t cruel, and he supposed that based on what she’d said to him just now, that hadn’t been a lie. But he had never expected to hear what he had heard in that room.

He held her against his chest and let her cry, rubbing her back to soothe her, sinking to the floor and taking her into his lap. “I’m going to make it all right, Robin,” he assured her quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry he said those things to you. I didn’t realize how poorly he’d treated you your entire life.”

“I didn’t tell you as much as I should have, because when you asked, I didn’t know that you loved me,” she admitted. “I was so nervous about so many things that it entirely slipped my mind. I suppose it’s because I try not to think about it most of the time.”

“I do not blame you at all, Robin.” He smoothed her hair and smiled down at her tenderly. “I am glad that you are secure enough in my love to know that it is not material possessions that create your value.”

“I don’t care if he changes his mind and tries to disinherit me,” she murmured. “Nothing in the world could tempt me away from you. I’d trade the finest palace in the world for one more second in your arms.”

“I hope you know how happy that makes me,” he breathed.

She looked up at him. “Kiss me, Sherlock,” she begged. “Make it all go away for just one second.”

“Gladly,” he acquiesced, tipping her chin up and giving her a deep, passionate kiss.

When their lips parted and she sighed happily, he said, “Marry me now, Robin. As soon as we can manage it. Once we’re married, you’re legally mine and you will never be under your father’s power again. I know he likely doesn’t have much time left, but I don’t want you to spend another second bound to him in that way. And if he does anything untoward to retaliate against our marriage, I vow to fix it.”

“Oh, Sherlock.” She beamed up at him, reaching to stroke his curls. “Thank you. But we can’t get married without a license. You know that.”

“I already have one,” he revealed.

“What? How?”

“Mycroft got me one. He assumed I would change the date of the wedding multiple times because of my cases. I assume there’s a local vicar?”

Robin nodded. “Of course.”

“Then allow me to arrange everything immediately. We’ll have a small wedding now, and then a party at the end of the season when we return to London for the rest of our family and friends so you can still wear your beautiful dress.”

The dress still wasn’t done, and she would be glad to show it off. “Yes, Sherlock.” She poked him in the chest playfully. “You just want a wedding night sooner rather than later, don’t you?”

“I might,” he teased, getting to his feet and helping her up too. “Do you not?”

“Oh, I most definitely do.”

They kissed again, only stopping when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Robin called, resting her head against Sherlock’s chest and staying in his arms.

He rested his chin on her forehead as Betsy came in. “The doctor is with your father, Robin. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I didn’t know if you might want to see him.”

“I suppose I should,” she decided reluctantly.

“Wait,” Sherlock insisted. “Let me, Robin. Unless you absolutely insist, I don’t want you speaking to him again.”

Robin blinked. “You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you,” he reminded her. Then he turned to Betsy. “Betsy, does the village doctor have plenty of room for patients in his home?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And would Mr. Ballard be comfortable there until his death?” Sherlock asked, deliberately omitting the man’s title.

“Likely more comfortable there than here, sir, considering the house’s current state and our resources.”

Sherlock looked at Robin again. “If the doctor agrees, will you let me move your father there?”

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. “You are far too good to me, Sherlock Holmes.”

He shook his head. “Hardly. Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Pardon me, then, while I go arrange everything. Betsy, please stay with Robin.”

“Of course, sir.”

He left the study and Betsy immediately hugged Robin. “I heard him, love. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Betsy.”

“No. But I can still be sorry about it.” She paused and looked thoughtfully back out at the hallway. “You have found an exceptional man, Robin.”

“I know, Betsy,” she agreed, resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder. “I know.”

****

After speaking to the doctor privately, Sherlock made all of the necessary arrangements to have Robin’s father moved. All that remained was to tell him.

He stepped into the room and stood at the end of his bed just like Robin had done.

“What do you want?” the older man grumbled.

“I am simply informing you of what is about to happen,” Sherlock began. “Robin and I will be married shortly, as soon as it can be managed, and you will never speak to her again. I am having you moved to the village doctor’s, where you will be much more comfortable until your death. It will also have the very desirable side effect of increasing your daughter’s happiness here at Norland Park, which she loves and you clearly care nothing for.”

“You can’t drag me from my own home and forbid me to see my own kin,” the man snapped angrily.

“I have, and there is nothing you can do to fight me. The doctor agrees that the move is in your best interest, and once we are married, Robin is my concern, not yours.”

“Why do you care for her so much? She is hardly worth all this fuss.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Your daughter somehow became a kind, caring, and wholly extraordinary woman in spite of you. It is past time that someone loved her and cared for her the way she has always deserved.”

“She’ll hurt you,” he tried one more time. “Just like her mother.”

“No,” Sherlock replied simply. “She won’t. Donald will pack your things, and a carriage is already waiting. You’ll be moved within the hour. Farewell, sir.”

He turned decisively and left the room. He had plenty more to do to begin the next chapter of his life, and he was eager to get started.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Robin get married.

The next few days were downright magical, as far as Robin was concerned.

Following Sherlock’s swift and decisive removal of her father from the house, he had immediately gone to the village and spoken to every single resident to find out what they could do for Norland Park. The estate was supposed to be the center of the village and provide the majority of its commerce, and she just hadn’t been able to do that, of course.

But now that she had Sherlock, she could.

Many people had showed up for good, paid work. The grounds were being tended to and the house was being cleaned. The stables had been restored and several fine horses were now living there, along with a full staff. Simple construction work was being done, and Sherlock had already written to experts in London who would be along shortly to do the more complicated tasks.

In addition, Robin had gone through everything currently in the house and decided what to keep and restore if necessary, what to give away, and what was unsalvageable. The villagers were reaping the benefit of the fact that she didn’t want most of her father’s furniture, clothes, and other personal belongings.

There were finally more than enough servants in the home to care for it properly, and Robin was making sure they were cared for properly as well. Several had written to relatives who needed work, and all the cooks were coming from elsewhere, so she was in charge of the kitchen until they arrived.

Sherlock snuck into that kitchen just as she was finishing baking a plum pie for him. He took a deep breath and smiled appreciatively, going to her and grabbing her waist. He pulled her in for a kiss and she submitted for a moment before pulling away.

“All for you,” she said, setting it in front of him as he took a seat.

He raised an eyebrow as she removed her apron and hair covering and brushed herself off. “Where are you off to?” he wondered.

“Betsy wants to see me. Eat your pie.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I know you haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“I’ve been too busy,” he reminded her, cutting a large piece and lifting it to his mouth. “Mmm. Your plum pie is the best I’ve ever eaten.”

“You can have it whenever you like. I’ll be back soon.” She turned to go, then paused and turned back to him. “You have been working so tirelessly for me, Sherlock. Thank you.”

“You’ve been working too,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but you are paying for everything, and you have already gone above and beyond the call of duty,” she insisted. “All of this is… so wonderful.”

He smiled at her softly. “It is only what you deserve, Robin.”

“Perhaps,” she acquiesced. “Either way, I will be thanking you for it very thoroughly tomorrow night, after our wedding.”

He flushed and narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re such a tease,” he murmured.

She giggled and curtsied slightly. “We must spend only one more night apart, Sherlock. After that, no one can keep us away from each other.”

As she disappeared around the corner, he shifted slightly in his seat and coughed. A day felt like an eternity to him in this regard. He wanted her to be his.

He closed his eyes and willed time to speed up so that he didn’t have to wait.

****

Robin went to meet Betsy in the study. She looked at the woman curiously as she noticed that the midwife, Margaret, known affectionately as Meg, was with her as well. “What did you want to speak to me about, Betsy?” she inquired.

“Sit, Robin,” Betsy urged. “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Robin asked, taking a seat as instructed.

Betsy nodded eagerly and reached behind her to grab something draped over a chair. She held it with reverence as she carried it to Robin and laid it in her lap.

“What’s this?” Robin wondered softly.

“Your wedding dress,” Betsy answered with pride. “I’ve been making it for you since I learned that you were engaged.”

“Betsy,” Robin breathed, looking the garment over. “It’s stunning.”

It was white satin decorated with embroidered silver flowers, and it was even more beautiful than the one she had purchased at Madame Delacroix’s.

“But how?” Robin looked at her and reached out to clasp her hands. “How did you afford this?”

“I’ve been putting aside for a wedding gown for you ever since you were born,” Betsy revealed. “But everyone in the village helped as well. They all love you, dear.”

“But I’ve barely done anything for them,” Robin protested.

“Nonsense. They all know how hard you’ve tried over the years. My goodness, ever since you could read and do sums, you’ve been running this place. If it weren’t for you, there wouldn’t be a village at all.”

“You’re too kind to me, Betsy.”

“Not at all, love. You deserve a beautiful dress to wear.”

Robin turned her eyes to the midwife, still unsure why she was present. “Did you help make the dress, Meg?”

“Me? No, dear. I’m awful with a needle. I’m here to help Betsy give you advice about your wedding night.”

Robin blushed instantly. “Oh, I see. Well, I certainly need some. I have only a passing knowledge of what to do, and Sherlock has absolutely none.”

“Have you done anything yet, dear? Betsy told me she saw you two kissing, and that you seemed quite comfortable.”

“We are… more familiar than we perhaps should be, considering that we are not wed,” Robin confessed.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Betsy assured her. “We’re not here to judge you. We just want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“Sherlock would never hurt me.”

“Not on purpose, dear, but sometimes a man, especially if he’s inexperienced, doesn’t know how to help himself,” Meg chided her.

Robin listened attentively as she was given a detailed explanation of all of the possible ways to show her new husband affection, including the mechanics of each choice.

“Now, tell me, have you seen it while he was aroused?” Meg added when she was finished.

“It? Oh. You mean, his, ah…”

“Yes, that. Size makes quite a difference.”

“I have,” Robin confirmed, leaving out the specific details.

Betsy took her hands again and held them a short distance apart. “That’s about average. How big was his?”

Robin blinked and frowned. If the length she was observing was average, Sherlock had more than just his brain and good looks to brag about, apparently.

“Is bigger or smaller better?” she questioned as she adjusted her hands.

Betsy and Meg’s eyes widened as they watched. “Well, it depends on the woman as well. There is such a thing as too big, I’ve been told,” Meg responded, her eyes flicking back to Robin. “Is that… accurate?”

Robin nodded. “Yes. I’m quite certain.”

“Oh my,” Betsy muttered.

“Is this too big?”

Robin was suddenly worried.

“It’s… prodigious, but not unmanageable,” Meg assured her. “Let me give you a few extra pointers.”

They talked for the next hour, and by the time Robin went about other business, she felt quite prepared for her wedding night.

****

The ceremony took place the next morning, close to noon. Robin was shocked, but pleased, to find the whole village in attendance, with the exception of her father, of course, who wasn’t invited.

She was brought to meet Sherlock at the altar by Donald. When she arrived, the detective took her hands and smiled at her, looking her dress up and down.

“You are stunning, Robin.”

She blushed as they stood together and said their vows. Her blush deepened as he slid a beautiful topaz and brass ring onto her finger. He blushed back when she slipped a simple brass band onto his.

When he pulled her into a gentle kiss, his heart quickened and beat faster. She was his now, and always would be.

They hosted a meal at the local inn afterwards. The mood was jovial, and Robin was pleased to see everyone relaxing and escaping their worries, even if it was just for one day.

Once everyone had food and was seated, Sherlock rose to make a toast.

“I want to thank everyone for taking time to come today,” he started. “I know that the years since Robin’s birth have been hard. It is admirable that you have all survived this long. I promise that from now on, you will thrive. Norland Park will once again be the jewel of the area, and times will be prosperous.”

Everyone applauded, and several people hollered their approval. Sherlock smiled and turned to Robin, who was beaming.

“I know you all love my bride dearly. I promise that I will care for her, our family, and all of you just as much.” He licked his lips and flushed slightly as he continued. “I once told my sister Enola to look for what is there, not for what you want to be there.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “When I look at you, my love, what is there and what I want to be there is exactly the same thing. I am a lucky man.”

When he sat back down, she threw her arms around him and kissed him. He pulled her into his lap and kept her there, glad that they no longer had to hide their affection for each other.

There were gifts and dancing and more food well into the evening. As dusk arrived, Sherlock took Robin’s hand and led her to an open carriage waiting outside. He lifted her up into it and they set off for his final surprise of the evening.

“Where are we going?” Robin asked when they drove past Norland and further back onto the property.

“To a place where we can truly be alone on our wedding night,” he answered cryptically.

After a moment, she realized what their destination was. “What did you do?” she wondered.

He grinned. “Betsy told me you would come here to write. I know you won’t have to hide that anymore, but I still wanted to make it a sort of retreat for you, or us, if it’s ever needed, so I had it restored.”

The carriage pulled up in front of the little cottage and she gasped. The outside had been completely refurbished and painted in a lovely light gray that was accented by a light blue door and shutters.

When she took his hand to step out of the carriage, he swung her into his arms instead to carry her inside. She giggled and clung to him, leaning up for a kiss.

“How did you do this so quickly, Sherlock?”

“With a little help from all of the people who love you, Robin.”

He carried her through the front rooms slowly, letting her take in all the details. She teared up when she saw her old writing desk, which he had sanded down and painted himself.

In the bedroom, he set her on the bed before moving to start a fire and light several candles. She waited, watching him happily.

When he came back to the bed and kneeled in front of her, he smiled. “What’s making you so happy?”

She reached out and tugged on the curl that insisted on hanging over his eye. “You’re my husband,” she whispered. “Because you love me.”

He nodded. “I do love you, Robin. More than anything. Which is why I want to get you out of this dress right now.”

She nodded back eagerly. “I want that too.”

They both stood. He waited patiently as she removed his jacket, vest, and shirt, her delicate fingers making quick work of the buttons. Once he was shirtless, she ran her hands over his chest and arms, drinking in the sight of his bulging muscles before leaning down to rub her nose in the dark curls of hair over his heart.

As she did that, he began to carefully undo her hair. He wanted it cascading over her shoulders. Once he’d removed the last pin, she tilted her face up for a kiss. He gladly gave it to her, stroking his hands down her back before slowly turning her and beginning to undo her laces.

She wasn’t wearing a corset, but it was impossible to tell. When he was able, he pushed her dress to her waist, then slid his hands back up to cup her heavy breasts. She gasped and arched her back, her bottom pushing against him.

He swelled, straining the stays of his breeches as he bent his head to her neck. Her hands reached back to grab his hips, squeezing them as he rubbed against her. He felt her nipples stiffen in his palms and plucked at them, tugging and twisting, kissing his way up to her jaw, enjoying the noises she made as he teased her.

After a moment, he pushed her dress the rest of the way down, lifting her out of it as it pooled at her feet and setting her back on the bed, then draping it gently over a chair to make sure it didn’t get damaged.

She slipped her shoes off, and he removed his before kneeling back down in front of her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and starting to kiss all over her breasts.

“Sherlock,” she moaned, bracing her hands against the bed and arching her back again, her legs parting, “I want to finish undressing you.”

One of his hands traced up her spine, his arm supporting her as her body curved towards him. “All in due time, Robin. Let me worship you first.”

He swirled his tongue around her nipples, then kissed each of them gently before taking one into his mouth. She tangled one hand in his hair and her breath hitched in her throat as he started to suck.

He moved the arm that was around her waist to slide his hand between her parted legs. She gasped as his fingers traced her folds and tugged on his hair insistently.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

He lifted his head from her breast. “I’m preparing you. Apparently, I am a, ah… prodigious size.”

She laughed lightly. “You sought out advice too, I see. Betsy and Meg cornered me before I could ask, but I was going to.”

He nodded. “I couldn’t risk hurting you, Robin.”

She sat up and ran both of her hands through his hair, then kissed his forehead. “You’re perfectly sweet, Sherlock. I know you would never hurt me.”

He smiled at her shyly. “Would you lay back for me? I want to look at you again.”

In answer, she leaned back obediently, her bottom positioned at the edge of the bed. Sherlock moved forward eagerly and draped her legs over his shoulders.

She was just as beautiful as she’d been the first time he’d seen her like this. This time, though, instead of burying his face in her, as much as he wanted to, he gently traced what he thought was her entrance.

“Right here?” he wondered softly.

She clenched at his touch and breathed out slowly, trying to stay still. “Yes,” she confirmed. “Sherlock, please… I want you right now…”

“Not until you’re ready,” he decided, slowly pushing his finger inside her.

She whimpered and arched her back, balling the coverlet on the bed up in her hands. His brow furrowed and he stopped.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she assured him. “No, not at all.”

He moved his finger in a slow circle, watching her stretch. He wanted to be inside her so badly, but he had promised himself that he would do this right.

He slowly added another finger, making her whimper again. When he spread them apart, her hips bucked and she moaned, but she bit her tongue so she didn’t keep begging.

He moved his fingers in and out and around. “How does that feel?” he asked her.

“Like it’s not enough,” she responded in frustration.

He chuckled and withdrew his fingers, licking them clean so he got a taste of her. As he stood, she sat up and began to work on his breeches, no longer willing to accept his slow pace. He helped her push them down, tipping his head back and groaning as she immediately wrapped her hand around him to hold him steady as she kissed her way along his length.

“Not that,” he panted. “Not tonight, Robin.”

She nodded and stood, patting the bed behind her. “Lay down.”

He did, staring at her as she crawled on top of him afterward, balancing on his hips. His length was tucked into the cleft of her very ample bottom, and her breasts were being pushed together by her arms since her hands were pressed into his chest.

He rested his head against the pillows and reached out to grab her rounded hips. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you, Robin,” he murmured.

“Then you’re not seeing what I’m seeing,” she replied softly.

Before he could come up with a clever retort, she was lifting herself and guiding him to her entrance. He tightened his hands and held her up, wanting to make sure she went slowly.

It took everything he had to keep his hips still as she sank down on him, taking as much as he would let her right away.

“Mmm…” she hummed, returning her hand to his chest and bracing herself again. She wiggled her hips. “I want more, Sherlock.”

“I…”

“Don’t want me to hurt myself, I know.” She leaned down, pillowing her breasts against his chest and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Trust me, Sherlock. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I’m perfect.”

As she sat back up, he loosened his grip and let her slide all the way down on him, groaning as their hips met again.

“How do I feel?” she wondered, gazing down at his face.

He was biting his lip and his eyelids were lowered. All of his muscles were tense, and his exquisitely muscled chest was heaving with each breath. After a moment, his eyes fluttered open and he looked up at her, his blue eyes almost entirely eclipsed by his pupils.

“Divine, Robin,” he whispered. “Warm and wet and soft. I never imagined anything could feel like this.”

She beamed down at him. “You said you imagined me underneath you, Sherlock.”

He nodded, his hips jerking up at the memory. She made a very satisfied noise as her breasts and bottom bounced with the movement.

“Sherlock,” she sighed, “turn me over and make love to me.”

He wanted to continue going slow for her. He wanted to be gentle and make it last as long as he could. But when she made that request, he couldn’t resist any longer. Masculine instincts he hadn’t known he possessed took over as he flipped her and pressed her into the bed.

She twined her legs loosely around his so he had freedom to move, sliding one hand back up into his hair and running the other over his chest. He propped himself up over her on his hands and then bent to kiss her as he started to move. He struggled to find a steady rhythm, but she seemed to like it, so he kept at it, assuming he’d learn over time.

“How do I feel?” he asked hoarsely when their lips parted.

He was desperate to know.

“Hot and strong and pulsing,” she hummed, a shiver rolling up her spine at the thrill of saying words like that out loud to him. “And I’m full, Sherlock. So full. It’s divine, just like you said.”

“I don’t know how long I’m going to last, Robin. I want to make it last for you.”

“Oh, my love,” she cooed, the endearment making his skin prickle. “Don’t hold back for my sake. Just let whatever happens happen.”

“All right,” he agreed.

He bent and pressed his forehead to hers, finally finding the rhythm that he wanted as he gazed down at her. There were no more words from either of them, just the sounds that they made as they moved together, clinging to each other as they discovered a kind of pleasure neither of them had experienced before.

He was panting with need when she tensed and cried out beneath him. He was entirely undone as her walls clenched, holding him tenderly as he finally finished inside of her for the first time.

Robin leaned up and captured his lips, kissing him as they both trembled. When he relaxed, he sank down on top of her and buried his face in her neck, trying to calm his breathing.

She pressed her cheek against his head and stroked his hair soothingly, murmuring to him sweetly as she rested comfortably under his weight.

“My sweet detective,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, slowly pushing himself up off of her. “I’m wonderful,” he admitted shyly. “But I’m crushing you.”

She giggled. “You’re not. I find your weight on me pleasant.”

Despite her assertion, he rolled them both onto their sides as he settled back into the bed. He smoothed her hair back from her cheeks as the sweat cooled on both of their bodies.

“You, um…” he ventured, trailing off as he blushed. “Did you…?”

“I am very satisfied,” she assured him, making him smile. “I just have one question.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Is there something I can do better next time?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed, kissing his nose, her magnificent breasts pushing against his chest as she moved closer. “I’m simply wondering how we’re ever supposed to stop, since it feels this good?”

He chuckled and bent his head, kissing his way over her cleavage. “Do we have to?” he wondered.

“I suppose it would be prudent at some point,” she breathed, her nipples swelling against his chest.

“Perhaps,” he admitted reluctantly. “But not tonight. Let us see how many times I can perform for you.”

She moaned happily as he pushed her breast up with a large, strong hand and sucked her nipple into his mouth, bound and determined to give her as much pleasure as possible on their wedding night.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Robin return to investigating.

For the rest of the night, they alternated between making love and lying in each other’s arms talking.

He thoroughly worshipped her breasts with his hands and mouth, then took her on her side, her thigh slung over his, his eyes glued to her bouncing cleavage. After, he told her about the first case he’d ever solved. She told him how she’d decided to write mystery novels.

When she realized that he’d risen to the occasion again during their conversation, she pushed him onto his back and rode him to completion, much to his delight.

She laid on his chest when she was done and listened to him describe one of the most interesting cases he’d ever taken. She started to discuss ideas she had for stories that she hadn’t used yet. He ended up going to her desk and finding something to write on as they brainstormed.

But, at a certain point, they put the paper and ink aside to tangle around each other again. Both thoroughly satisfied and exhausted, they fell asleep nestled against each other.

Of course, when Sherlock woke the next morning with her exquisite naked form in his arms and noticed the peaks of her pink nipples jutting out from her lush breasts, he wanted her all over again, despite how many times he’d had her the night before.

He traced one nipple with his finger, tilting his head and watching it swell under his gentle touch. She sighed and arched her back slightly, her eyelids fluttering.

He traced the other nipple, pinching it teasingly when he was finished. She bit her lip as she moaned and stretched, her eyes slowly opening.

He smiled at her and bent his head to kiss each nipple while she ran her hands through his mussed curls. “My insatiable husband,” she murmured.

“I am your husband, aren’t I?” he whispered huskily, winking at her as he pushed her breasts together and swirled his tongue between both of her nipples, sucking one, then the other.

Her legs parted beneath him and he paused for a moment to guide his already throbbing length to her entrance. He slipped inside her easily.

He knew he had much more to learn, but he was confident that he knew her body well enough now to not be nervous anymore.

She clung to him desperately, letting him do all the work this time, whimpering as he started to move, his pace tender and unhurried, his mouth and hands still focused on her breasts.

The advantage of this position was that he could hear every single noise she made with perfect clarity. She panted, gasped, and whined as he drove into her over and over, going as deep as he could each time.

When she came, she held onto his shoulders and squeezed tightly as she cried out his name repeatedly. That tipped him over the edge into his own release. As he pushed into her and held himself there, he buried his face in her soft, inviting breasts.

They laid there like that for a few minutes until he peeked up at her from her cleavage, making her giggle. He moved so he was laying on his side next to her and gathered her up in his arms.

“That’s quite a lovely way to wake up,” she observed, leaning in for a kiss.

He obliged her, then slid out of bed when there was a knock on the door. “That’s breakfast,” he informed her, pulling on his breeches and heading to answer it that way.

“Well, as famished as I am, I don’t need you scandalizing the servants!” she called after him.

The sight of her extremely attractive husband shirtless and delightfully disheveled was bound to cause a stir, if not outright swooning.

He returned a few moments later with a picnic basket. He set it on a chair and began to pull items out as she wrapped a blanket around herself and rose to join him.

When he was finished, he set the basket on the floor and pulled her into his lap as they began to eat.

“Betsy was so kind to take over the kitchens so we could have some time together,” she murmured.

“The note with the basket said that several of the cooks arrived this morning. I’m sure they’ll settle in in no time, and then she’ll be able to merely direct the household instead of doing everything herself.”

“I know we have to go back to London, if only to solve your case and appease my aunt. But I’d much rather stay here and run the house myself. Betsy deserves a break.”

“And she will have one, my love,” Sherlock assured her. “We will return home as soon as we can. I promise.”

He kissed her cheek and she blushed happily, burrowing into him. He laughed and held her close.

“What are we doing today?” Robin wondered.

“We are relaxing and enjoying each other,” he revealed.

“What about the case?” she protested.

“The case will wait one more day. We’re going to the Beverley estate tomorrow. We’ll go back to London after. If we find something there to help us find her, as you suspect we will, it will make our job that much easier. If we don’t, we’ll continue our search and perhaps find another way to narrow our parameters.”

“If you insist,” she acquiesced.

“I do. And I seem to remember you vowing to obey me yesterday,” he teased.

“I only said that because they made me,” she argued, poking him in the chest.

He laughed heartily. “I know. I will never expect you to be anyone besides your very vexing self, Robin.”

She wrinkled her nose at him and he shook his head. “That only makes you look positively adorable, Robin.”

She rolled her eyes, then yelped as he stood with her in his arms and carried her back to the bed.

“I do believe we’ve both lost the upper hand when it comes to disagreements,” she decided. “If we’re allowed to simply subdue each other like this.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, laying down on his back and letting her kiss her way down his chest. He shivered when she kissed his straining erection through his breeches. “I think you’re correct, Mrs. Holmes.”

She grinned up at him as she freed his length. Her only other answer was to slide her mouth down over him. As she started to bob her head, he relaxed into the bed to enjoy her touch.

****

That evening, after a delicious dinner was delivered to them from the inn, they curled up in bed together. They both needed rest in order to be at their best tomorrow.

Robin’s soft curves were tucked into him, her bottom resting on his hips and thighs. She was laying on top of his arm, and he had it curled around her so one of her breasts rested in his palm. He had the other wrapped around her under that, pushing her cleavage up so he could stare at it over her shoulder.

He nuzzled her and sighed. She shifted slightly and tipped her head back to look up at him. “What is it, Sherlock?”

He kissed her shoulder tenderly. “It was only recently that I realized how lonely I was, Robin,” he said quietly. “I missed so much of my sister’s life and never noticed. And I thought I didn’t need a companion, but now that I have you, I don’t know how I did without.”

“Oh, my love,” she cooed, turning in his arms and reaching up to gently touch his hair. “Everything’s all right now.”

“I just want to thank you,” he murmured. “For challenging me. For pushing me. For not giving up on me when I must have made it easy for you to consider that route.”

She smiled and pulled his head down for a kiss. “You silly man. You took just as much of a chance on me.”

“But I don’t think I ever would have if you hadn’t made your impromptu proposal,” he confessed. “I just… need to thank you. For filling my life with love and warmth that I didn’t even know I needed.”

“Then you must allow me to thank you, Sherlock,” she whispered. “For listening to me, taking care of me, and valuing my intelligence.”

He kissed the top of her head. “It is one of the things I love best about you.”

“We are lucky to have found each other,” she observed.

“Lucky indeed,” he agreed.

“Get some rest, my love,” she urged him. “I will be here for you always. I won’t have disappeared when you wake up in the morning.”

“I love you, Robin.”

“I love you, Sherlock.”

They both closed their eyes and quickly fell asleep, lulled by the warmth and comfort of being in each other’s arms.

****

The next morning, they returned to the main house and prepared for their journey. The Beverley estate wasn’t far, so they fully expected to be on their way to London before dark.

Right before they left, the doctor arrived to tell them that Robin’s father had passed. Sherlock asked him to arrange the funeral on the family’s behalf. His only stipulation was that he wanted it over and done before he and Robin returned from London.

Once they were in the carriage and on their way, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it, lifting it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “It’s done now. I find some peace in that.”

“As you should,” he assured her.

She leaned against him quietly for the duration of their short journey. When they arrived at the Beverley estate, they were shown inside by a servant. Robin asked that they be directed to Miss Beverley’s rooms, since she thought they were most likely to find answers there.

She moved immediately to the woman’s dresser and looked for the drawer with her underthings in it. Sherlock watched her with amusement, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Do you really think she would use the same hiding place twice?” he wondered.

“Are you testing me, Sherlock Holmes?” she teased. “People are inherently predictable, for the most part. She wants a place where she thinks no one will look, and pawing through a lady’s undergarments is considered quite unseemly.”

She tested the give of the drawer with her fingers, then pulled the one next to it open for comparison. She pressed on the bottom panel of the drawer and it popped up to reveal a hiding place. Sadly, it was empty.

“Well, it’s there,” Robin mused. “That’s something. Cressida told me that Cecilia destroyed the evidence of her plan.”

“The fireplace, perhaps?” Sherlock suggested, frowning at it.

“I take your frown to mean that you investigated hers when you were here last.”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“What about the others?”

He glanced at her and shook his head. “At the time, there was no need.”

“If I were her,” Robin decided, “I would use the least likely fireplace in the home. She probably knew that someone would be called to look into her disappearance. Perhaps she even surmised that it would be you. Your cleverness is public knowledge.”

“Are you trying to flatter me, Mrs. Holmes?”

She winked at him. “How else will I lure you to my bed later, Mr. Holmes?”

She breezed past him and he chuckled, following her. She requested that a servant show them where Lord Beverley’s private study was.

They were led there and both bent to examine the fireplace. They’d been told that it hadn’t been used since the family had left for London.

“She would have burned her plans at the last minute, so there might be something left, if this hasn’t been cleaned thoroughly since then.”

Sherlock naturally searched upward, running his fingers over the small ledge inside the fireplace. Robin searched downward and came away with a single scrap of paper that had fallen into the back of the fireplace and gotten wedged between the stones.

“What does it say?” Sherlock inquired, sitting back on his heels.

“Poseidon’s Wrath,” Robin read. “Both letters are capitalized. A title, perhaps?”

“No,” Sherlock murmured, taking it from her and studying it. “It’s the name of a ship that docked in London at the beginning of the season.”

“If she’s on a ship, she could be anywhere,” Robin pointed out. “She could have even bribed the captain to make an unscheduled stop and keep it off his books.”

“Very true,” Sherlock agreed, “but I happen to know that this particular ship isn’t leaving port until the end of the season. If she’s booked on it and her plans haven’t changed, she’s still in London.”

“Why would she wait? Why not book passage on some other ship?”

“Poseidon’s Wrath specifically caters to nobility,” Sherlock explained. “She wants to travel in comfort and safety. In a way, it’s smart, considering the dangers for an unaccompanied woman in the world. Of course, it gives us more time to find her.”

“And if we know when the ship is leaving port, even if we can’t find her right away, we know where to look eventually,” Robin added.

“Exactly.” Sherlock shook his head and then laughed loudly. “Ha! My brilliant wife. Excellent work, Mrs. Holmes.”

To his surprise, her brow furrowed and she looked troubled. He waited until they’d left the house and were back in the carriage on their way to London before he addressed it, though, not wanting to air their personal business in front of the Beverley servants, who he already knew were gossips.

“What’s wrong, Robin? I thought you’d be happy that we found a lead.”

“I am,” she sighed. “It’s just that I can’t help feeling that this is my fault.”

“Your fault?” he questioned. “How?”

“She used my book, Sherlock,” she reminded him. “She used it as a template to make this grand escape. Doesn’t that make me responsible? If I hadn’t written it, maybe she never would have gotten the idea.”

Sherlock shook his head, pulling her into his side and stroking her cheek. “And perhaps she would have tried anyway and hurt herself or someone else because she did not have such good advice to follow,” he suggested.

She tilted her head and gazed at him skeptically. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“You cannot blame yourself for the actions of others, my love,” he insisted. “People make their own choices, whether they have guidance or not. Miss Beverley obviously wanted to escape from her family. She would have found some way to do it, even if your book didn’t exist or she hadn’t read it.”

“Do you really think so?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“I suppose that, from time to time, it might be prudent to defer to my husband,” she confessed, smiling up at him.

He winked at her. “I agree. Therefore, I have decided that we shall travel until dark, then stop at an inn where we can have a lovely supper and I can ravage you before our return to London tomorrow.”

She giggled and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Yes, sir,” she answered seriously.

“Hmm,” he hummed, raising an eyebrow. “Say that again.”

She laughed and leaned up to kiss him again. “Do you like it when I call you sir, sir?”

“I think I do,” he murmured, holding her to him tightly and kissing her again.

They were going back to London as husband and wife, and he couldn’t have been happier. Even the prospect of socializing with a flock of stuffy nobles for the rest of the season couldn’t dull his spirits now.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Robin return to London. Robin sees her new city home for the first time.

They arrived at the Bridgerton house in the late morning and found everything in disarray. Violet was nowhere to be seen, but Robin managed to grab Eloise by the arm as she ran through the foyer.

“Eloise, what’s going on?”

Eloise paused and narrowed her eyes at her cousin. “You don’t know?”

Robin shook her head. “No. We just returned to the city, and this is the first place we came.”

“Marina is pregnant with her former lover’s baby,” Eloise announced bluntly. “She was trying to trap Colin into marriage.”

“Is he all right?”

Eloise shrugged. “He’s heartbroken, of course, but he managed to exit the engagement with his reputation intact.”

Robin nodded. “That’s good, at least. Where is your mother?”

“Right here,” Violet answered, hurrying down the stairs.

Eloise pulled away and vanished as Violet came immediately to Robin and hugged her. “Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Robin blinked. “Sorry for what?”

“Your father, dear.”

“Oh,” Robin murmured. She had already entirely forgotten. “Don’t trouble yourself, Aunt Violet. He was not worth being sorry for, if I’m being entirely honest.”

To her surprise, her aunt smiled at her. “Ah, my dear. I am glad to see you finally admitting it. Please tell me you gave that man a piece of your mind before he went.”

“She did,” Sherlock remembered. “It was quite spectacular.”

“Then I must congratulate you on two counts. I hear you are now wed.”

“Yes, Aunt Violet.”

Her aunt hugged her tightly, looking at Sherlock sternly over Robin’s shoulder. “And are you taking good care of your wife, Mr. Holmes?”

He swallowed nervously, which gave Robin the time to defend him, even though she knew her aunt was only teasing.

“He managed everything with my father after my outburst so I didn’t have to talk to him, Aunt Violet. He’s already begun fixing Norland Park. And he arranged for our hasty marriage to free me. He has treated me very well.”

“So I assumed, my dear,” Violet replied. “I am so happy for both of you.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t invite you, Aunt Violet. Everything happened so fast.”

“It’s quite all right, Robin. I understand. You’ll be celebrating for your family and friends in the city before the end of the season, I presume?”

“Of course,” Robin assured her.

“Very well, then. Let me know when you need help arranging everything.”

“Meanwhile, is there anything we can do for you?” Sherlock wondered. “This business with Colin sounds serious.”

“No, no. It’s all been handled. We must simply wait for the gossip to die down, is all. It may take slightly longer because of Lady Whistledown, but soon there will be something else for the ton to talk about.” She clapped her hands together decisively. “We’re about to have tea. Come join us.”

“Of course,” they both agreed, following her.

As they sat, drank tea, and ate, they talked. Sherlock and Robin described the work currently happening at Norland, as well as their wedding.

“Have you given any thought to where you’ll be staying while you’re in London for the rest of the season?” Violet finally inquired.

“I have a flat on Baker Street,” Sherlock told her. “We thought we’d stay there.”

“A newly married couple needs their privacy,” Violet agreed. “I think it’s a wonderful plan. You’re welcome here whenever you like, of course.”

“Thank you, Aunt Violet. You’re welcome wherever we are as well.”

“You’re very kind, dear. Will we be seeing you at any further ton events shortly?”

“We must direct our attention to solving Sherlock’s case. We’ve quite put it aside in light of everything else,” Robin explained. “So I’m not entirely sure yet.”

“Just don’t disappear on us, you two. I imagine you’ll have children soon and won’t want to be doing too much visiting while they’re very small.”

Robin beamed at Sherlock and blushed. “I imagine we will,” she murmured.

When tea was over, her aunt hugged her one more time and repeated her pleasure at their obvious happiness. Robin promised to visit soon, and Sherlock went to retrieve their carriage.

As she was waiting, Eloise appeared again and came to stand beside her. Robin waited for her to speak, wondering what the younger girl was up to.

“I would like your help discovering the identity of Lady Whistledown,” she confessed, “since I have recently decided that you’re not her.”

Robin turned to Eloise in surprise. “You thought I was Lady Whistledown? Why?”

“Well, her publication started right after your arrival in London,” Eloise defended herself.

“Hm,” Robin mused. “That was an excellent observation, Eloise. May I also ask what has removed me from your lists of suspects?”

“Well, publication continued while you were gone, first of all. Even then, I thought you might have arranged for it beforehand, but you were clearly shocked when I told you about Colin, and that was in her last edition. You could be pretending, I suppose, but I think you’re smarter than that. You wouldn’t have asked at all, and if we’d asked you how you knew, you would have said you’d stopped and read Lady Whistledown when you returned to the city.”

“Very excellent deductive skills, Eloise,” Robin complimented her. “However, I’m not sure I should help you.”

“But you’re a detective!” Eloise protested. “I think that’s what I might want to be as well.”

“I’m not a detective, Eloise,” Robin disagreed. “I’m helping Sherlock with his case, yes, and I am having a lovely time doing it. But even if I were, I would still refuse. If you truly believe this is something you want to do with your life, I believe you must find your own way. That is what will really tell you if it’s what you want.”

Eloise sighed. “Why do you have to make so much sense?”

Robin laughed. “You are already doing a wonderful job on your own, Eloise. I know you are more than capable. I am sure you will unmask Lady Whistledown in no time.”

“I hope so. Thank you, Robin.” She started to leave, then paused. “Are you happy being a wife?” she added, looking at her cousin curiously.

“I am, Eloise.” When her cousin wrinkled her nose in distaste, Robin laughed. “That doesn’t mean every woman would be happy with it,” she pointed out. “It also doesn’t mean that’s all I am. There is plenty more to me than that.”

Eloise nodded slowly. “That gives me much to think about,” she decided before heading back up the stairs.

Robin shook her head a little, hoping she’d said the right things. She knew how hard it was to find one’s way in the world for a woman. She was still working on it. She could only hope that Eloise found the kind of support she had. Her mother would be there for her, of course, and Robin promised herself that she would too.

Sherlock came into the foyer and smiled at her. “The carriage is ready,” he told her. “Let’s go home.”

She took his hand and smiled happily. “Let’s.”

****

Robin stood just inside the entrance of Sherlock’s flat on Baker Street and blinked rapidly to herself.

“Oh my,” she muttered softly.

While the flat was large and had obviously designated living spaces, Sherlock was clearly using it as one giant office. Stacks of books and papers occupied every surface, including a good portion of the floor. A variety of unusual objects were stashed in between the piles. She spotted a deerstalker cap, a pipe, a magnifying glass, and, of course, his famous violin.

He slid his hands around her waist from behind and rested his chin on top of her head. “It’s rather messy,” he ventured.

She snorted loudly. “Rather messy?” she challenged him. “Sherlock, it’s a disaster in here. A fascinating disaster, to be sure, but a disaster nonetheless. Don’t you have a housekeeper and a cook, at least?”

“I can’t have servants here. These are all of my work materials. It is highly possible that people might send someone here under the guise of being a servant to snoop.”

Robin turned to him. “How do you eat?”

“When I remember, there’s a lovely pub and a tea room on this street.”

She shook her head at him affectionately. “You must let me organize all of this for you so we can actually live here with our children when we must. And I’ll be taking over your kitchen as well.”

He tipped her chin up and kissed her. “I would expect absolutely nothing less. Thank you, Robin.”

She nodded briskly, glad that she’d worn one of her sturdy cotton dresses. “You’re welcome, Sherlock. Let’s get to work.”


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Robin settle in. An unexpected visitor arrives with the subject of their case.

Several days later, thanks to her hard work, his flat was like a home for the first time since he’d purchased it. She had cleaned and organized everything, bought several new pieces of furniture to complement what he already had, and stocked the kitchen.

It had only taken them those same several days to fall into a comfortable rhythm. He was currently at his desk, which was now in the main space of the flat. She had one right next to it. The room that had formerly been his office was now set up for the children they would soon have.

She was in the kitchen. The flat was wonderfully warm, and filled with the smells of bacon, baking bread, and plum pie.

And, of course, now that they were living alone together, he could have her whenever he wanted. The fainting couch he’d previously mostly used for sleeping when he never made it to his own bed had become a favorite spot of his to pin her on, sometimes for only a few moments, and sometimes for much longer.

When she emerged and informed him that food would be ready in roughly thirty minutes, he pounced. She’d taken to wearing loose gowns when they didn’t have company, and it took basically no effort at all to tug the fabric down to expose her breasts.

“I’ll certainly be with child before the end of the season if you keep doing this,” she murmured.

Truthfully, they both hoped that she already was, but it was far too early to tell.

“Good,” he murmured back, dragging her skirt up as she undid his breeches, then slid her hands around to squeeze his backside.

His hips worked feverishly as he drove into her, his curls falling over his forehead and brushing against her skin as they kissed.

This time, it didn’t last long, but it was still incredibly satisfying.

She giggled and kissed his cheek before sneaking out from underneath him to head back to the kitchen. “You’re getting quite good at that,” she observed.

“Mm,” he rumbled, redoing his breeches and reclining comfortably. “I aim to please.”

“And you do, every time,” she assured him.

After they ate, he returned to catching up on his correspondence while she worked on her next novel.

When he dropped a kiss on her shoulder and asked how it was going, she turned and kissed him. “I’m still not used to this part,” she admitted. “Being able to work openly and talking to someone about it.”

“You will be soon enough, Robin.”

She nodded. “Yes, I will, Sherlock.”

She kissed him again and began to show him everything she had written so far.

****

Once the flat was in order, Sherlock paid a visit to the docks and found Poseidon’s Wrath. He and Robin had assumed, of course, that Miss Beverley had not used her real name when planning her escape, and they had guessed correctly. Sherlock bribed the captain so he could look at the list of planned passengers, however, and when he found the name of a character from Robin’s most recent book, he knew exactly who he was looking for.

Another bribe for the captain ensured that he would delay the ship’s departure and send for the detective when Miss Beverley arrived. Of course, he and Robin were hoping to find her before that, but it was prudent to be cautious.

After his bribes, they began spending their days running errands and exploring London to look for Miss Beverley. There were many lodging houses she could be staying at, as well as hotels. Robin was astonished by everything she was seeing, and it quickly became one of Sherlock’s favorite pastimes to see the thrilled look on her face when she was experiencing something new.

He also reluctantly took her to meet Mycroft. His brother was already in a bad mood because they couldn’t meet at the Diogenes Club, since it didn’t allow women. He was also not particularly pleased when he saw Robin for the first time.

“Well, I thought she’d be prettier,” he scoffed after they were introduced. “What even tempted you about her?”

“Your brother is just as you promised, Sherlock,” Robin replied primly, rolling her eyes at Mycroft.

“Goodness gracious, don’t tell me she’s impertinent,” Mycroft complained. “The last thing we need in this family is another impertinent woman.”

“She is delightfully impertinent, Mycroft,” Sherlock informed him, “but rest assured that she will not embarrass our family. She will also provide it with heirs, which it is sorely lacking.”

Mycroft grumbled, but didn’t protest further, which gave Sherlock an opportunity to continue. He thought it best to stick to facts with Mycroft, as he wasn’t particularly interested in a conversation regarding the quality of his wife. He was perfectly happy, and Mycroft never would be, so there was no point arguing about it.

“I will be retaining my flat in London for working on cases. We’ll be in the city until the end of the season, and will have a celebration of our marriage at some point. I’ll invite you to be proper, of course, but if all you send is an excuse, that’s fine with me.”

Mycroft waved his hand dismissively and didn’t respond at all.

“After that, we will be adjourning to Robin’s estate, Norland Park. We recently visited the property together and have already started the process of restoring it.”

Mycroft snorted. “And what did her father think of that, considering that the estate is his?”

“He passed recently, so the estate is Robin’s now,” Sherlock explained, skipping over the more complicated family history.

Mycroft would think Robin’s father’s behavior entirely justified, so Sherlock wasn’t having that argument either.

“You mean it’s yours,” his older brother pointed out, sneering. “You’re married now, so everything she had belongs to you.” He paused. “I suppose you’re an earl now then, aren’t you, brother?”

“An earl?” Sherlock questioned. “But her father was a count.”

“Because he received his title from the French king for services rendered to both France and England during one of their brief periods of peace during his youth,” Robin clarified. “The English king merely honored it when he returned. He was a count because that was the title he received. I’m a countess because I’m his daughter and the title passes through his family. The equivalent English title is earl, which you now possess since you married a countess.”

Mycroft spared her another glance. “I suppose you’re not entirely worthless,” he admitted begrudgingly.

“Thank goodness,” she sighed. “My biggest fear was being worthless to my overly charming brother.”

Sherlock smirked and rose, reaching for her hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. “Go back to your club, Mycroft. I simply wanted you to meet your new sister and inform you of our plans since I know you hate being uninformed. Your responsibility ends now.”

Robin took a deep breath and smiled at Mycroft. “However you might feel about me, Mr. Holmes, please be assured that you are always welcome at Norland Park. You are family, after all.”

“While that’s very generous of you,” he sniffed, “I’m sure that it won’t be necessary.”

He stood and dusted himself off, as if he couldn’t stand to be anywhere but where he wanted to be for a moment longer. He hurried off, leaving them alone again.

Sherlock blew out a breath. “You are far kinder than I would have been, Robin.”

She laughed. “Hardly. Now that he knows he has an invitation, he’ll never use it. If we didn’t give him one, he’d complain about it every single time we saw him and eventually just show up when he was least wanted.”

“You are much more socially savvy than I am,” he confessed after a moment of silence.

“Well, of course I am,” she agreed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “It’s one of the benefits of being married to me.”

“Not the one I like the most, Mrs. Holmes,” he replied cheekily, offering her his arm. “Let’s go home and explore some of the others.”

But when they returned, there was an urgent message waiting for him. Robin hovered while he read it.

“Is it about Miss Beverley?” she asked.

He shook his head, his brow furrowed. “No, it’s from the queen. She requires my services and requests my presence this evening. I must leave you to fend for yourself, I suppose.”

He changed and prepared to leave, looking rather put out as she kissed him goodbye. “I wish she had invited you as well,” he murmured. 

“I’m sure she would have if she knew we were married. A new Lady Whistledown hasn’t come out since our return to London, and I doubt anyone’s informed her. I’ll be waiting for you with a hot dinner when you return.”

“You are quite good to me, Mrs. Holmes,” he whispered, stealing one more kiss before he went to keep his appointment.

****

He returned two hours later, and she had kept her promise. She was waiting in one of her loose gowns, and he could smell meat pie.

“I need a break from breakfast,” she apologized.

It was his favorite meal of the day, so she fixed it often. He shook his head and bent down to kiss her with a smile. “You’re allowed to cook whatever you’d like, Robin.”

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back as she stood. “What did the queen want?” she wondered as she went to get the pie, along with the cheese and plums she was serving with it.

“She wants me to discover who Lady Whistledown is,” Sherlock announced as he set the table.

“I thought Eloise was attempting that.”

She had told him about her conversation with her cousin upon returning to London.

“She was also in attendance,” Sherlock revealed. “It was quite the ambush. Apparently the queen is getting impatient. She’s had enough of Lady Whistledown embarrassing her and the ton and wants the whole affair finished as soon as possible.”

“Did Eloise seem upset?”

“Yes, but she hid it well.”

“I’ll have to go visit her tomorrow. I’m sure she’s feeling inadequate, but she’s hardly to blame. She’s never done any detective work before, and there are hardly any clues about Lady Whistledown’s true identity available. Not to mention that she isn’t responsible for the queen’s shifting moods.”

“Of course not. It’s hardly surprising that the queen has sought out a professional,” Sherlock agreed. “From what the queen told me, it sounds like she gave in to Eloise as more of a hobby. Now that she’s truly interested, she doesn’t want to trust an amateur.”

“She’ll be more determined than ever,” Robin laughed. “You’re going to have some competition.”

“I don’t mind that at all. I used to find it odious, but it’s refreshing when my adversary is worthy. My sister outdid me once and I rather enjoyed it. And Eloise was brave enough to accuse you, so she clearly has potential.”

“How do you feel about having to unmask Lady Whistledown?”

Robin cut slices of pie, cheese, and plums and Sherlock poured tea as he answered. “Silencing her might be a good thing,” he decided. “I’m not sure all of this gossip is doing anyone any good.”

“You might be right,” Robin agreed.

“Whatever I think, I can’t say no,” Sherlock reminded her. “It’s the queen.”

“Well, of course not. I was just curious.”

He took a bite of pie and groaned happily. “You are such an amazing cook. I know I say that every time, but it’s true.”

“Wait until you see what I have planned for dessert.”

She winked and he grinned. Whatever was happening in the world outside, at least he could be secure in the fact that he would always be happy within their walls.

****

The next morning, he was relaxing with the paper. Ever since the business with Enola and his mother, he’d taken to reading it, though he’d previously found it tedious.

He turned the page and glanced at the personals, which he always did out of habit. There were rarely any messages that would interest him, but today a garbled entry that would only make sense to a select few caught his eye.

He laughed and jumped up to join Robin in the kitchen.

“Expect company at noon, precisely,” he informed her, kissing her cheek. “You won’t need a corset.”

She raised her eyebrow, but didn’t voice her suspicions. “All right. I’ll make sure to have something ready.”

She worked for the rest of the morning to come up with a spread. When noon arrived, there was a brisk knock on the door. Sherlock answered it, surprised when two women entered.

He was even more surprised when he realized who the second one was.

Robin emerged from the kitchen and smiled at their guests.

“You must be my brother’s wife,” one of them announced decisively. “I’m Enola Holmes. I’m sure he’s told you about me.”

“He has, Enola,” Robin said warmly. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

“And who is with you, Enola?” Sherlock asked witheringly, though he was obviously impressed.

“Well, brother,” Enola replied archly, “I heard you were missing a baroness. This is Miss Cecilia Beverley.”

Miss Beverley sighed and looked vaguely annoyed, but otherwise said nothing.

Robin started to laugh gaily as she realized that her brilliant husband had once again been outdone by his much younger sister. She kissed his cheek affectionately and turned to invite everyone in so she could serve the lunch she’d made.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin resolves matters with Miss Beverley and spends more time with her new sister.

They all sat around the table. Sherlock and Enola both began eating heartily, but Miss Beverley only picked at her food. She was clearly uncomfortable, and it was easy for Robin to guess why. So she reached out and put her hand gently over hers and smiled.

“May I call you Cecilia, Miss Beverley?” she asked warmly.

“I suppose,” she mumbled a little petulantly.

“I understand why you’re upset, Cecilia,” Robin began. “But I assure you that we have no intention of doing anything that hurts you. So, please. Tell us why you wanted to run away from home.”

Cecilia sighed. “Enola has informed me that there is no point in lying to her brother, and I imagine that goes for you as well, Mrs. Holmes.”

“Call me Robin, please.”

She nodded. “Well, Robin,” she admitted reluctantly, “I’m afraid of being trapped in an unhappy marriage. My parents have never been happy. I do not want to be auctioned off to a man and have my worth measured by how many sons I can give him. That’s what happened to my mother, and she had two daughters, so you can imagine my father’s disappointment.”

“Your parents did seem rather morose,” Sherlock observed as he watched the two women.

“It’s worse when there’s no company,” Cecilia pointed out. “But that’s not all. I want to travel. I want to see things and do things. It’s not that I don’t want to get married and have a family. I just don’t want to right away.”

“All of that is fair, Cecilia,” Robin assured her. “Trust me, I understand. I was prepared to sacrifice much when I finally tried to find a husband this season. But I can also tell you from personal experience that it doesn’t have to be that way. I ended up with a wonderful man who appreciates my differences and honors my wishes for my life. I know that’s an exception to the usual rule, but it is possible.”

Cecilia looked skeptical, but Robin took a deep breath and forged ahead. “You must also consider the consequences of your actions, Cecilia. For both your family and for women as a whole.”

Her brow furrowed as she glanced at Robin. “What do you mean?”

“Your reputation is already in danger, Cecilia. Everyone knows Sherlock is investigating a disappearance. Questions have been asked. Some people know for certain that the missing person is you, though your family is doing their best to keep it secret. Others merely suspect. Some men will likely not consider marrying you at all, and you are ruining any chance your little sister has for a match in the future. And before you say you can marry someone after you’ve run away, consider that your options will be very limited because of your estranged status, and that puts you at risk for being taken advantage of as well.”

“Additionally,” Robin continued, “if women are to change anything at all for our gender, we must change it from the inside. Nothing changes if we run away. I know it doesn’t seem fair to have to shoulder that burden, but it belongs to all of us, and we must all do our part.”

Enola raised an eyebrow and stared at her brother, then mouthed, “Good job.”

Sherlock smiled and reached out to squeeze his wife’s shoulders, looking at her with all the pride in the world in his eyes.

“That’s easy for you to say. You must have had help to make a good match for yourself,” Cecilia protested.

“I did,” Robin revealed. “My aunt is quite the fan of a love match, which worked in my favor. But I also advocated for myself, which you can do. And I promise you my help as well, Cecilia. We will not abandon you simply because our case has ended.”

“We won’t,” Sherlock confirmed, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Everyone deserves to be as happy as we are.”

“If I refuse, will you drag me home kicking and screaming?” she wondered bluntly.

“No, absolutely not,” Robin answered, waiting to see what Cecilia would say.

“I didn’t expect that kindness,” she confessed, blowing out a breath. “Perhaps you’re right. I cannot say that my time alone in London has been entirely pleasant, though I am unscathed. I will return home, and hold you to your promise of help in making a match.”

“Thank you, Cecilia,” Robin told her sincerely. “Please, have a good meal first, though. There’s plenty to go around.”

“Thank you.”

Robin was relieved when Cecilia dug into her food. She knew that Ceciila wouldn’t feel automatically better about everything, but Robin hoped that, as long as she and Sherlock kept their promises, everything would work out in the end.

****

After a leisurely meal, the three Holmes’ delivered Miss Beverley back to her home. Robin stood with her while everything was explained and offered support. Though it wasn’t going to be perfect by any means, Cecilia was back with her family, and Robin’s invitation to escort the girl for the rest of the season was accepted. While it was certainly going to make the next weeks a whirlwind, Robin knew it would be worth it.

After leaving the Beverley home, Sherlock steered them to Enola’s favorite tea room so they could spend some more time together. Enola grinned at all of the beautifully decorated little cakes as they sat down.

“I am going to eat my weight in cake,” she announced, making Sherlock laugh. Then she eyed Robin critically before adding, “I think my brother chose well. You are an odd mixture of traditional and progressive, and I find it fascinating.”

“Thank you, Enola. I am very happy to be a part of your family, and overjoyed to have you as a sister. It’s good for your brother to be put in his place every once in a while. And I must say that I do not believe we would be married at all if it weren’t for you. I think you paved the way for your brother to be open to marrying a woman like me.”

He nuzzled her cheek and kissed it and Enola coughed. “You two are being rather gross, though. You could stop that.”

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. “Not a chance. I waited long enough to be able to show her affection without it being inappropriate.”

They paused as someone came by to take their order, then Sherlock finally asked the question he’d been meaning to ask since Enola had showed up.

“How did you find her before I did, Enola?”

Enola smiled smugly. “Well, brother, you forget that I successfully hid in London for quite some time. I simply thought of what I would do and went from there. I’ve been following the case in the papers, of course. Lady Whistledown is rather useful.”

“Well, if you’re amenable, perhaps you could help me find her,” he suggested. “The queen has enlisted me to discover her identity, and she expects results quickly.”

“Jolly good!” Enola exclaimed excitedly. “I’d love to.”

They spent the rest of the meal discussing theories about Lady Whistledown, recounting their wedding once more, and describing Norland Park to Enola.

“And I hope you know, Enola,” Robin finished, “that you are welcome at any of our homes at any time. I find you quite charming, and it would be a pleasure to have you around.”

“Likewise,” Enola agreed. “I’m sure we’ll have occasion to cross paths in the future.”

“We certainly want our children to know you, Enola,” Sherlock added.

Enola’s eyes widened. “Are you with child already?”

Robin shook her head. “It’s too early to tell, but we’re hoping.”

Sherlock squeezed her gently. “Very much so.”

“Well, I’ll certainly come visit. When they’re older. I don’t want to take care of a baby.”

Enola wrinkled her nose and they all laughed again. “And, of course, Enola,” Robin finished, “if you’re interested in attending any ton events, I’d be happy to be your escort.”

“You’re not trying to find me a husband, are you?” Enola teased.

“I believe that if you want a husband, you will find one all on your own, Enola,” Robin assured her.

“Very well. I might come to a few. They seem intriguing, at the very least.”

“They certainly are that,” Robin agreed.

When they left the tea room, they went their separate ways. Robin watched Enola go, leaning against Sherlock until she disappeared into the distance.

“She’s a wonderful young woman,” Robin observed, gazing up at him.

“She really is. I am blessed to have two extraordinary women in my life.” He bent and kissed her as she blushed. “You have been so kind and patient today, Robin. You are going to be a fantastic mother.”

“I hope so,” she mused. “I did have a good model in Betsy.”

“You certainly did. Our children are going to have the most wonderful life because of you.”

“And you,” she insisted as they began to walk home.

He wasn’t as willing to accept that idea. “I’ll learn,” he decided.

She smiled, resting her head against his chest as they walked. She had no doubt that he would be a wonderful father, but she knew he would have to figure that out for himself when the chance finally arrived.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of Sherlock and Robin’s London loose ends are tied up at the end of the season.

The next weeks passed in a blur. Sherlock and Enola chased down leads on Lady Whistledown while Robin wrote her novel and escorted Cecilia to ton events. She also enlisted the help of her Aunt Violet to acclimate Cecilia to the politics at this late date while she searched for a suitable match for her.

Daphne also approached Robin about the grand party she and Simon were holding for the end of the season. She wanted it to be a celebration of both of their marriages. Robin accepted after making Daphne promise that she’d let Robin help with the preparations.

Sherlock returned home one evening to find her sleeping on the fainting couch, her latest pages abandoned on her desk. He smiled as he sat down beside her and gently smoothed back her hair. She was wrapped in his favorite blanket, and her nose was buried in it. She’d told him several times this week that she liked that it smelled like him.

“Robin?” he asked softly.

“Mmm,” she hummed, stirring slightly, her eyes fluttering open. “Sherlock? What time is it?”

“Almost six,” he told her. “Did you sleep well?”

“I completely forgot to make dinner,” she realized with a gasp, sitting straight up quickly.

“Don’t worry about that,” he calmed her. “You’ve been running yourself ragged to get everything done, and you’re going to be even busier this week because of Daphne and Simon’s party. I’ll go pick something up from the pub.”

“The rabbit pie?” she requested hopefully.

He chuckled. “You’ve wanted that for dinner every night this week,” he observed.

“We can have something else,” she assured him.

He shook his head. “You’re getting the rabbit pie, Robin. Keep resting. I’ll come back with it shortly.”

He bent to kiss her. She held him to her for a moment, burying her nose in his curls after the kiss and taking a deep breath. “I love the way you smell, Sherlock,” she whispered.

He kissed her one more time and stood, making sure she was properly tucked in until he returned. He was more than pleased to take care of his wife.

When he returned, she was sitting up and waiting for him. He set their meal down in front of her, removing his shoes, jacket, vest, and cravat before joining her.

“I’m going to Daphne’s tomorrow to make food for the ball.”

He laughed. “You’re going to scandalize everyone when you put on an apron and take over her kitchen. I wish I was going to be there to see it, but Enola and I are still trying to find Lady Whistledown.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before, but you should look into where her pages are printed,” Robin suggested through a mouthful of pie. “It has to be dropped off by someone. Even if it isn’t her, there’s bound to be a clue there.”

“A brilliant thought, my love,” he replied. “Enola and I have been so focused on rooting out her actual identity that it didn’t even occur to me to take that route. Admittedly, we’ve eliminated quite a few people from the list, but our suspect pool is still too large. This will help narrow it down.”

“Well, I’m glad I could finally help,” she admitted. “I’ve been feeling rather useless.”

“Useless?” he scoffed. “You’ve been doing plenty, Robin. You don’t have to do everything.”

“I’m aware,” she argued. “But still.”

“None of that now,” he admonished her affectionately. “You are doing more than enough. Too much, in fact. I’m looking forward to being back at Norland Park. It won’t be nearly as busy, and there will be plenty of people to help with the work.”

“Is everything still going well?”

“The reports are excellent. I am very excited for you to see it.”

He was waiting for the moment, in fact, when she saw her childhood home restored to a state of glory she’d never before witnessed.

“I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

When they were finished eating, he prepared her for bed. She sighed when she snuggled up against him beneath the covers, warm and comfortable and happy.

He held her close, lulled by her softness. He hoped that tomorrow, they could finish everything that was left to do in the city and finally retire for a time.

****

The next evening, he laced up her corset for her, being as gentle as he could, as she recounted her stories of the afternoon for him. He laughed as she described the shock of the various ladies moving through the house when they’d seen her cooking.

He kissed her cheek upon hearing that she had stood up for herself. She’d been falsely confident before, putting on a facade for everyone else, but now she was truly confident, and he loved seeing it.

“What of Lady Whistledown?” she asked when she was finished, turning to straighten his clothes.

“I found where her paper is printed and the publisher told me what time she drops her pages off. The queen rewarded me handsomely and considers it in her hands now. Frankly, I’m glad to be free of the whole affair. It means we can go home that much sooner.”

“Does Eloise know?”

He shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. I’m sure she’ll figure it out. She’s quite determined to show me up.”

Robin smiled and laughed. “I’m sure she will. Being shown up is clearly good for you.”

She kissed his cheek as he inquired, “Is your last piece of business still happening tonight?”

Robin nodded. “I’ll be introducing them before the first dance. I think they would be a wonderful match. I hope they like each other.”

“I’m sure they will.”

“Is Enola coming at all?” Robin wondered.

“If she is, she hasn’t told me,” Sherlock revealed. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t show up.”

Robin giggled. “Of course not. I’ll keep an eye out.”

She finished putting on her jewelry and patted her hair. “How do I look?”

She was wearing the dress that she had originally intended to be for her wedding. She spun and he beamed at her.

“You are stunning, Robin,” he assured her, catching her around the waist and kissing her. “I am the luckiest man in London. In England. In the world.”

She blushed and hugged him. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“And I love you, Robin Holmes,” he replied, winking at her. “Come. Let’s get this night over with.”

****

Sherlock and Robin stood with Simon and Daphne at the entrance to the ball, greeting everyone as they arrived. When Cecilia came, Robin had her stand beside her and wait for the arrival of Robin’s other special guest.

When he arrived, Cecilia zeroed in on him immediately and Robin grinned. Colonel Thomas Wentworth was extraordinarily handsome. Not as handsome as her husband, she thought, but it hardly mattered. He wasn’t being matched with her.

“Colonel, thank you so much for joining us this evening,” Robin said warmly. “Cecilia, this is Colonel Thomas Wentworth. He is a noble with a grand estate, as well as a distinguished military man who wishes to revisit many of the places he’s seen, along with seeing more, before he has children, and he would very much like to do it with his wife so they can get to know each other better. He is also the only brother of five sisters who were very good to him growing up, and thinks that many daughters would be a blessing.”

“Colonel, this is Miss Cecilia Beverley,” she continued. “She desires to see the world with her husband before they settle down to start a family, and is quite adventurous.”

Colonel Wentworth bowed to Cecilia and smiled brilliantly. “It is an absolute joy to meet you, Miss Beverley. I have been searching for a woman just like you all season.” 

Cecilia looked shocked, but pleased, as he requested her first two dances. Robin winked at her as she left and continued welcoming guests.

Later, as she danced with Sherlock, Robin watched them. “They’ll be engaged before the end of the night,” she declared. “Look at them.”

“They do seem smitten with each other,” he agreed. “I believe they will be very happy. Your due diligence and your aunt’s assistance have done very well for her.”

“He’s a good man. I’d choose nothing less for her, of course. I think it’s lovely.”

“It is indeed.”

They didn’t talk much for the rest of the night. He danced every dance with her, they sampled all of her excellent refreshments, and Robin waved secretly to Enola, who she’d spotted on the balcony in disguise. The girl had acknowledged her, then disappeared.

When the rain started, Sherlock quickly pulled her under the balcony for shelter. “I can’t have my wife and child getting soaked,” he said seriously, smiling down at her.

She shook her head and smiled at him. “I should have known you’d already realized.”

“Well, I cornered Meg and asked her what signs to look for before we left Norland,” he admitted. “I wanted to make sure you were taken care of properly.”

“It’s still quite early,” she reminded him. “We might be mistaken.”

“I doubt it.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Oh, Robin. I’m so happy.”

“As am I,” she promised him. “Let’s go.”

He made her wait while he retrieved the carriage, using his jacket to shield her from the rain. At home, he bundled her into bed and demanded that she sleep in the next day. She was more than happy to oblige.

****

“Are you sure I can’t help?” Robin asked for what felt like the tenth time.

Sherlock shook his head as he sat beside her and handed her the latest issue of Lady Whistledown and a letter that had been delivered for her that morning. “You can help by sitting here and resting. I’m almost done.”

They were leaving for Norland Park the next morning, and he’d insisted on doing all of the packing himself.

She opened the letter first.

“Thomas and Cecilia are engaged!” Robin called out to him. “They’re going on a grand honeymoon tour after their marriage, which they’ve invited us to. Cecilia sends her thanks to both of us for returning her to her family and helping her achieve what she desired without having to abandon her entire life and the people she loves.”

“I’m so pleased,” she sighed. “She’ll be such an example for other women making matches, and she’ll be able to guide her sister to an excellent one when she’s ready.”

“I’m not sure why she’s thanking me,” he admitted. “You were the one who did her the most good.”

“Nonsense. We never would have found her if not for you,” she argued, setting the letter aside. “I’ll answer her later. Let’s see what Lady Whistledown has to say.”

Robin unfolded the pages, ready for the last gossip of the season.

The queen had not apprehended Lady Whistledown. Thankfully, she didn’t blame Sherlock, and the failure of her guards to capture the woman seemed to have ended her interest in the whole affair. He was well aware that she might change her mind about that later on, but had decided to deal with it when the time came.

“Anything interesting?” Sherlock wondered, stopping to drop a kiss on her forehead.

“Because I introduced Thomas and Cecilia, Lady Whistledown has declared me the matchmaker of the season. She’s looking forward to what I will do next year.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I can live up to those expectations.”

“And you don’t have to,” Sherlock assured her. “Lady Whistledown doesn’t get a say.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Robin agreed.

“Are you sure you’re up to visiting your aunt?” Sherlock inquired as she leaned back and closed her eyes momentarily.

“Of course,” she insisted. “It’s likely the last opportunity we’ll have to see her for some time.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

He helped her up so they could depart, clinging to her worriedly. He’d feel better when she was home, with no more traveling ahead of her, and able to rest indefinitely.

****

Robin announced her suspected pregnancy at dinner. Violet was overjoyed and couldn’t congratulate them enough, promising to come visit either shortly before or after the babe arrived. Robin assured everyone that they were welcome at Norland whenever the mood struck them.

As Robin waited for Sherlock to bring their carriage around, Eloise appeared beside her. “I warned Lady Whistledown about the queen’s guards,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize if you followed your conscience, Eloise,” Robin chastised her. “You did nothing wrong.”

Her cousin sighed and hugged her. “I did follow my conscience, and I’m so glad to have your approval. I know I am still searching for my path, but I am closer than I was when I started this season.”

“You most certainly are, Eloise. I’m proud of you.”

“And I’m happy for you. I’ll try and come with Mother when she visits to meet the baby.”

“I would love that, Eloise.”

She gave the girl one more hug, then Sherlock came to retrieve her. Though she had thoroughly enjoyed her time in the city for the season, she was most definitely ready to go home and start an entirely different life now.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new addition to the Holmes family makes the future bright.

**Norland Park, 1814**

“Just breathe, dear,” Betsy soothed Robin softly, squeezing her hand tightly. “Meg will be here soon.”

As his wife moaned, Sherlock shook his head. “She’s ready now, Betsy,” he announced from his spot between Robin’s legs. “Darling, when the urge is upon you again, I want you to push.”

He had had the foresight to have Meg teach him everything he needed to know to deliver his own child just in case the midwife herself could not be here, and now he was quite glad he’d done so.

Robin moaned again and pushed, her foot braced against Sherlock’s shoulder from where she sat on the edge of the bed. Betsy’s hand was supporting the small of her back so she was almost standing, which was the position Meg had suggested. They’d practiced it on multiple occasions.

On the outside, Sherlock was perfectly calm, but on the inside, he was close to panic, especially as he saw his child’s head begin to emerge from his wife. His heart was beating frantically in his chest, but he was determined not to show Robin how nervous he was. She was dealing with enough already.

“That’s perfect, Robin. One more and the head should be free.”

Robin nodded and pushed again when she was ready, grunting with the effort. She was past the point of being concerned about the pain. Now she was worried about their baby.

“There it is,” Sherlock told her, supporting the head in his hand, putting the other under the baby’s shoulders to guide it free. “Push again, my love. You’re almost done.”

Robin did, and suddenly Sherlock was holding a slippery bundle in his hands. For a moment, he was mesmerized as he stared at the child he and his wife had made together.

Though he didn’t have to say child anymore, he realized. Now he knew that he and Robin had a daughter, just as he’d suspected all along.

“Sherlock?” Robin gasped. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” he answered her, his voice choked up. He felt like he was ready to burst with pride. “Yes. She’s perfect.”

“She?” Robin echoed as Sherlock gently laid the baby on a towel and began to clean her, making sure to clear her nostrils and mouth just like Meg had shown him. Once he did, she started to cry.

“She,” he confirmed, smiling up at Robin. “Elizabeth. Don’t cry, Elizabeth,” he cooed. “Everything’s going to be just fine, I promise.”

Sherlock stood as Betsy moved Robin’s shift down so that the baby could lay on her bare skin. He nestled her there, then helped shift Robin into a more comfortable position. He left the cord for Meg, who he could hear coming up the stairs.

She bustled into the room. “Oh my, did I miss everything?” she wondered in frustration. “Curse this blasted snow.”

“She was just born, Meg,” Betsy explained. “Sherlock did a lovely job.”

“Of course he did. He had an excellent teacher.”

Meg quickly took over to let Robin and Sherlock enjoy their first moments with Elizabeth. He stripped his shirt off since it had been soiled during the delivery before he went to join his family on the bed.

Once her cord was cut, Elizabeth’s crying calmed slightly, but it only calmed entirely when Sherlock took her so Betsy could finish tending to Robin.

After, Robin leaned against him contentedly as they both gazed at Elizabeth. She had her eyes open. They were bright blue, just like her father’s, and he couldn’t stop staring at them. She also had his finger clenched in her fist.

“She’s so beautiful,” he murmured.

“She really is,” Robin agreed.

She was tired, and she knew she was going to be quite uncomfortable for the next month or two, but she was happy. She had been happier than ever since marrying Sherlock, yet somehow seeing their tiny baby girl cradled in his massive but gentle arms made her even happier than that.

It was hard to believe that less than a year ago, she had merely been a brazen woman asking him to marry her so she could preserve what little freedom she had. It was even harder to believe that he had been a mildly taciturn detective who wanted nothing to do with love, marriage, and family.

Since leaving London at the end of the season, Norland Park had been finished. Every building on the property was restored, and the landscaping was now exquisitely maintained. The village was thriving and had also grown quite a bit as more families arrived for work that provided security.

Robin had finished her latest novel and sent it off to her publisher a month ago. It was her best one yet, she thought, and she was hoping her readers would think the same.

Enola had taken on the majority of Sherlock’s London work so he could stay at home with his new family. The sibling detective duo had rather taken London by storm, much to Mycroft’s discontent.

Enola had also taken Eloise under her wing to give her a taste of what being a lady detective was really like. Eloise still wasn’t entirely sure of her path, but she was certainly enjoying herself.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had fallen comfortably into the role of an estate manager. Robin still helped, of course, but he’d been quite insistent on her resting as much as possible, and would continue to be for quite some time, so most of the responsibility had landed on his shoulders.

The only social event they’d attended since the end of the season was Thomas and Cecilia’s wedding. It had been lovely, and Robin received a letter from every new destination they visited on their grand honeymoon tour, which wasn’t over yet. They were incredibly happy, which satisfied Robin greatly.

Sherlock had spent his free hours since their complete settling at Norland fascinated by her growing belly. He’d touched it, read to it, and even played his violin for it. Robin had indulged him at every turn. The attention had comforted her.

He had been convinced from the beginning that their growing child was the daughter he had dreamed of. She was glad to see that he had been right.

Her focus was drawn from the past back to the future as Elizabeth started to cry. “I think she’s hungry,” Sherlock observed, carefully handing her over.

Robin took her and Sherlock watched as she stroked the baby’s cheek and held her to her breast. Elizabeth quickly latched on and settled down as she started to suck.

“Thank goodness she’s eating,” Robin murmured. “I was so worried that she wouldn’t.”

“It’s because you’re so good with her,” Sherlock decided. “She knows you love her and would never hurt her.”

“I imagine that we’re just lucky, but you’re very sweet, Sherlock,” she laughed.

“Everyone will come to visit her soon,” he reminded her. “The villagers, your aunt and her family.”

“Enola?” Robin wondered archly, clearly teasing.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Maybe when she stops crying,” he joked, leaning in to kiss her.

“What do you think the future holds for us? For her?”

Sherlock ran his fingers gently through Elizabeth’s mass of dark curls. “For us? More happiness. Another child. Other than that, who knows? There will be more mysteries, and those are certainly nothing we can anticipate. As for her, well, she’s got her whole life to decide what she wants. She’ll figure it out.”

Robin’s eyes began to flutter closed as Elizabeth finished eating. Sherlock took her back and let his wife lean against him.

“Sleep when you can, Robin. I’ll take care of everything for the time being.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” she whispered, curling up beside him. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

He finished taking care of Elizabeth, letting the little girl recline comfortably in his arms once again. “You know,” he said to her quietly, “I would read to you all the time when you were growing in your mother’s belly. Your favorite was the book with the character we named you after. Shall we start it again?”

He grabbed the first volume of _Pride and Prejudice_ off of the nightstand beside them and opened it to the first page, clearing his throat before he started reading.

After the first few sentences, Elizabeth shut her eyes, lulled to sleep by the familiar sound of her father’s voice.

Sherlock set the book aside and put his free arm around Robin, still holding Elizabeth against him.

He had no desire to move at all. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

**THE END**

**Sherlock and Robin’s story may continue…**


End file.
